The Edge Series: The Way Back Home
by Pretentiously Betwixt
Summary: In the sequel to "The Edge of the Ocean," Cate Alton has survived the sinking of the Titanic. However, she soon realizes that her survival has come with a terrible price, and now she must find a way to carry on. But there's one thing, in addition to the tyranny of her grandparents, that could bring her life crashing down once more as she struggles to fight against fate.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 _Sunday, January 1, 1893_

 _The White Star Pub_

 _Liverpool, England_

The city was frozen. William Murdoch could scarcely believe how cold it was, how suddenly the blizzard had moved in, turning everything in its path to ice. The trains were stuck, leaving countless people stranded and in need of a place to stay. Including him. He had intended to be in his native Scotland by sunset, but now he would be lucky to have a bed for the night. His fists were clenched tightly in their gloves and his jaw was welded shut as he bowed his head against the wind and barreled across the street to a familiar pub, the White Star. It was probably one of the only times he hadn't been run down by a horse and buggy, seeing as no one in their right mind would be out in weather such as this.

Will was assaulted by a blast of warm air the moment he pushed the door open. It was blazing with light, and everywhere he could he hear laughter, shouts, and singing. Never before had he seen the pub so full; every single table seemed to be taken, to the point where people had resorted to sitting on the tables themselves or the floors. No one paid him any mind as he stood there on the threshold, stamping the snow from his shoes and shaking flakes from his honey blond hair. He was sure his face was bright red, that his nose was about to fall off, and that his fingers could no longer function—the sooner he got a room for the night, the better. But it looked to be a hopeless case. Just as he turned to leave, he caught sight an almost-empty table in a far corner.

It was occupied by only one person: a young woman who was, Will was certain, the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. She sat with a glass of red wine, the firelight glinting off her ivory skin, her hair so dark that he would have thought it was black if he couldn't see tints of brown in the blazing light of the fire. Most peculiarly, her hair was not tied up in the usual custom, but hung freely about her shoulders, which were covered by a crimson cloak with a dark, fur-lined hood. Immediately, Will was captivated by her—the sharp angles of her cheekbones that, in the dim light, made her look almost gaunt, the eyes so dark they appeared to be bottomless, the fullness of her lips as she took a sip from her glass of red wine. Seemingly aware of his gaze upon her, the woman looked at him, the corners of her lips turning upwards.

Will had never been a bold person. He wasn't shy, but he had never been as outgoing as the rest of his siblings or his parents. As if he was being pulled by a string, though, he felt himself walking toward her, like she had cast him under some spell, rendering him powerless to resist her. As he approached, the woman replaced her glass onto the table.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, feigning no timidity as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze squarely.

She was American. The realization startled him; what was a young American woman—who was unmistakably rich, judging by the rings on her fingers and the necklace at her throat—doing alone in a pub in Liverpool?

"I wondered if I might join you." Will was shocked by his own boldness. He wasn't sure what he would do if she refused, other than to slink away into the shadows like a serpent.

The young woman seemed to regard him for a moment, arching an eyebrow. Finally, she smirked a bit.

"I would be honored," she said at last. "All of the other men tried to woo me with a line or some such thing, all trying to be witty. I appreciate your straightforwardness."

If one thing could be said about this young woman in these first few seconds, it would be that she was sure of herself. She knew she was beautiful, and she knew why men would think of clever things to say in order to sit across from her. She had turned them all away, though. But not Will.

"If I'm one thing," said Will as he sat, "it's straightforward."

"I can see that," the young woman agreed with a slight nod. "Does this straightforward young man have a name?"

"Will," he said, silently thanking God that he didn't stutter. "Will Murdoch. And you? What brings a lady such as yourself to a place such as this?"

"Snow," said the young woman with a heavy sigh, looking around at the pub packed with people. "I arrived in Liverpool the other day aboard the _Majestic_ and had planned to take a train to Wiltshire this morning, but it turns out they're all stuck. Fancy that."

Will raised his eyebrows, any vague attempt at flirting flying out the window. "If you're headed to Wiltshire, why didn't you just board a ship that makes berth in Southampton? Surely it would have saved you a great deal of trouble."

The young woman rolled her eyes. "My mother has never been known to do things the easy way," she said vaguely.

A thousand questions were burning on the tip of Will's tongue. How did she come to be there? Why was she alone? What was her name? The last question, at least, he figured wasn't too impertinent to ask. When he did, she considered for a moment, as if trying to decide if she would actually tell him her name or she would come up with an alias. But, at last, she smiled, and it seemed to be the most genuine expression she had had for him all night. And Will knew that when she told him her name, he would never forget it as long as he lived.

"Sophie Alton."

* * *

 _Thursday, April 18, 1912_

 _Pier 54_

 _New York City, New York_

 _Nineteen Years and Four Months Later_

Thousands of people crowded onto Pier 54 and beyond as _Carpathia_ chugged down the Hudson River. She had deposited _Titanic_ 's nineteen remaining lifeboats on Pier 59, the dock at which the sunken ship would have stopped had she been able, before continuing onto her own Cunard pier. Catharine Alton had followed her maid up to the Boat Deck, oblivious to the rain, as the dock came into view, illuminated by bright, electric lights.

"I can't do this," Cate breathed, her voice inaudible above the pouring rain and the shouts coming through megaphones, as reporters stood on dozens of tugboats that had floated up to them, bellowing questions, as if they expected some survivor to lean over the side and answer them.

It was amazing how so many things could change, just in the span of two weeks. When she had left Scotland, she had thought her life was over, doomed to a loveless marriage under the control of her tyrannical grandparents. That was why she had boarded _Titanic_ : to leave her beautiful Scotland to fulfill her destiny of what they had always planned for her. She had said "goodbye" to her family—her father's parents, her aunts and uncles, and her cousins, in preparation of perhaps never seeing any of them again. Then, in Southampton, everything had changed with one smile.

Cate didn't believe in love at first sight, and she didn't entertain the notion that that was what she had experienced with James Moody. But there had been something: a spark that had led to a blazing flame. She had immediately been attracted to him, with his chestnut brown hair hidden under his officer's hand, his sparkling gray eyes, a dimple in cheek. His skin had been warm when their hands touched. She had not loved him then, but still, there had been something.

A painful lump rose in her throat as a crystal-clear image of that day of the Bridge of _Titanic_ appeared in her mind's eye. She had approached on her father's arm, and he had looked so proud to accompany her and introduce her to his colleagues, the daughter about whom he had not been able to stop talking since he had learned she would be a passenger on the voyage. His Catey. He had loved her so fiercely, and she had loved him in return, in spite of his absences, in spite of this decision he had made that had forever altered the course of her life, in spite of his vehement attempts to keep her and James apart.

But they could not stay separated; they had been drawn to one another like moths to a flame. First they had met by chance as she had sat reading at a café, and then James had continued to make unexpected appearances, always taking her by surprise. As soon as Will had seen them together, he had tried to put a stop to it, telling Cate that it was inappropriate for a passenger to spend so much time with an unrelated, male member of the crew. And for the first time in Cate's life, she had rebelled. She had refused to give in to his demands, continuing to see James gladly every time he appeared. She'd had no idea, then, that he'd been purposefully looking for her after those first couple of times, he, too, being unable to stay away.

Once the ship had set sail, Will had been satisfied with the fact that James would likely be too busy to seek Cate's company, and she would be too busy in her own, rich world. But he had underestimated their tenacity, their desire to be with one another. On the very first night of the voyage, they had met after dinner on the promenade deck, looking out at the water that glistened in the starlight. And, for the first time, Cate had made a decision more substantial than what she would wear that day: she chose James. He had kissed her for the first time, and she had felt everything around melt away as he held her in his arms, stroking her skin with the gentle touch of his fingertips.

Yet, at the same time, James had been uneasy about her choosing to be with him when she had promised to meet her father elsewhere. Though he didn't want to stay away from her, he didn't want to deliberately come between the relationship of a father and his daughter. So, he had left, insisting that she go to talk to him. But she hadn't; she had lied to Will about where she had been, and at the time, she had thought he had believed her lie. Cate had been sick with guilt about lying to him, but it was worth it, she thought, to be able to be with James.

On the afternoon of the second day of the voyage, everything had continued to change. They had met at the stern of the ship, hidden away from the third class passengers and any prying eyes who might report them to Will or the captain. It was there that, after only knowing one another for a week, they had told one another those three words that Cate had never expected to hear or utter: "I love you." And after a week, it hadn't felt too fast, or rushed, or false: it had felt perfect. They loved one another, and it was right.

They next day, however, Cate's father had done something that she had felt was unforgivable: he had read her diary in an attempt to learn if she had been liaising with James, and had found out the truth. First, he had confronted James himself on the Bridge, though he had promised not to tell Captain Smith about their illicit relationship if they promised to stay apart. To Cate, though, he had confessed the truth of what he had done and then something more: that he had signed a document that left her under control of her maternal grandparents until one of two things happened: either she married or she turned twenty-one. He threatened to tell the captain of their relationship, which would forever ruin James' chances of a fulfilling career, and, knowing she could never do that to him, Cate, though brokenhearted, had agreed to stay away.

Cate had spent the whole of that day believing her life was over, that everything she had hoped to achieve with James had vanished in the span of an hour-long conversation. James had surprised her one last time that evening, after she had left dinner and gotten ready for bed, by appearing at the door of her cabin. He was not, he told her, prepared to let her go, and he would fight for her no matter what it took, and in spite of Will's threat to tell the captain, in spite of her grandparents' "ownership" of her, they would be together. He had taken her breath away, then, when he asked her to marry him. After only a week of knowing him, they were engaged to marry, and Cate had never felt such happiness. She was ecstatic, over the moon with joy that they would be together forever. She had thrown every inhibition she had ever had to the wind, and they had made love that night, their souls, Cate felt, merging together until infinity.

There was no guilt in anything they had done. Cate had lied to her father, but it had been worth it at the time. Multiple times she had reasoned with herself that, while she had years to argue and make up with her father, she only had days to be with James. Now, she realized, that the former wasn't true, and had she known it at the time, she could only guess as to what, if anything, she would have done differently.

Cate was forever grateful that she and Will had made up, that they had forgiven one another, even after he learned that she and James would not stay separated. He did not like the idea of her giving up everything to be with him, but he wanted her to be happy and finally realized that having a rich husband would not give her that happiness. The last day of his life had finally been the day that he and Cate resolved the feud that had bubbled underneath the surface for eighteen years before spilling over. For the first time, she had been truly, completely happy.

But then _Titanic_ had struck an iceberg. Will had begged her to board a lifeboat, but she couldn't—not without either him or James, even after the realization that it was highly unlikely for them to be able to escape, especially Will as one of the most senior officers. There was very little hope of all three of them surviving, yet Cate had felt a renewed, kindled desperation when James had found her and they had boarded one of the last two boats that Will was loading. They had all come so, so close. But they had been thrown over the side and had all become separated. She hadn't seen them afterward and now she never would again.

Now she was back to the beginning, quite literally, arriving in America with the knowledge that her maternal grandparents would continue to exact their control over her, and there would be nothing she could do to stop them, no James to rescue her, no Will to support her. They were gone in the span of a terrifying, moonless night.

"Write to me," Harold Lowe had urged as the rescue ship approached the harbor. But she never would. She couldn't. What could she say to him? Any connection she had had to him had died along with Will and James. Her connection with anything concerning _Titanic_ was broken.

Rain fell in drenching sheets, but the first class passengers were covered as they waited to disembark on the lower decks. A steward who waited with them explained that they, the ones with money and therefore the most right, would walk off first down a long gangway plank to the pier below. How they would find their loved ones, no one knew; there was not likely to be any sort of organization to assist with this.

As they waited to disembark, Cate looked around at the other people, mostly women. They were tired, with dark circles under their eyes and tear stains on their faces. Mrs. Astor, supported by her maid, her hand protectively over her swollen abdomen that she no longer tried to hide. Mrs. Ryerson and three of her children: Suzette, Emily, and John—they had been sailing back after the death of their oldest, Arthur, and now they mourned the loss of Mr. Ryerson, as well. Helen Newsom, her parents, and Karl Behr. Lady Rothes. Cal Hockley, whose arm was being gripped tightly by Ruth Dewitt Bukater. Ruth's daughter and Cal's fiancée, Rose, had not survived. Seventeen-year-old Rose was one of only five women in first class who had not made it.

When the first passenger, a woman Cate had never met, began walking down the gangway alone, a great wail rose up in the crowd. The pier, which had been silent as the lifeboats were unloaded, was suddenly an explosion of noise once more as people sobbed and reporters called out through megaphones, as people cried out, asking after loved ones. Cate's heart hammered in her chest. How would she make it through the throng? She didn't even know who to look for.

Cate found herself moving along with the crowd of first class passengers. Suddenly her feet were off of a ship—hopefully forever—and on the long, seemingly rickety plank that led down to the pier. She stared at the back of Margaret Brown's hat as she walked, doing her best not to look at anyone around her—the crying people, the reporters. If the Altons' chauffeur was there, he would shout for her. But she couldn't look at anyone. She couldn't.

The horde of people was worse than she had imagined. Bodies upon bodies pressed against her and Esther, who clung ever so tightly to the Chinese sewing box and the gloves. People screamed in her ears, wailing and sobbing, yelling and crying. They could scarcely move, doing their best to weave their way through and resorting to shoving past people who would not move, who were staring shell-shocked up the ship. There was no order, only chaos. She saw women from the Red Cross, looking for those who had been hurt or who needed help, but there was no one Cate recognized. No one. How could they be so alone in a sea of thousands of people?

They had been looking for at least thirty minutes, now just as drenched as Cate had been when she had been thrown into the Atlantic, when she felt a wave of anxiety: what if the Altons hadn't sent anyone to meet her? What if they just expected her to show up on their doorstep in Philadelphia? Should she walk to the street and hail a cab to take her to the train station? But no, she had no money. She had nothing but the teddy bear she carried and the box and gloves that Esther carried.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard what she thought was her name being shouted over the din.

"Cate! Catherine Alton!"

Cate looked around quickly, trying to spot the person who called her, but it was only when Esther nudged her that she finally saw what appeared to be herself staring back at her, although her reflection seemed to be much better put together. She wore a beautiful evening gown of royal blue, a pearl necklace resting at her throat, standing underneath a large, black umbrella. Lillian. Her twin sister. Immediately, Cate felt so much relief that her knees grew weak and she almost burst into tears. She and Esther hurried to close the distance between them until, at least, they stood before one another.

Standing beside Lillian holding the umbrella was a tall, handsome man with wavy, reddish brown hair and a kind, pointed face. He smiled warmly at her, also dressed to the nines in white tie and a tailcoat. Lillian wrung her gloved hands together fretfully.

"We didn't know when the rescue ship would be arriving," she said, looking around at the mass of people, "but we got word as we were dining—luckily we weren't far away—"

"We're so glad you're both alright," said Lillian's fiancé, Daniel Norcross, interrupting her babbling. He stepped forward to kiss Cate on both cheeks.

But Cate had eyes only for her sister. The two identical women gazed at one another mutely, appearing to use the telepathic connection that had long since grown rusty after years of disuse. Lillian spoke volumes in her silence: how worried she had been, how anxious and terrified that Cate had not made it, how relieved she was that she had. Much to Cate's surprise, Lillian broke the silence by stepping forward and pulling her sister into an embrace. It had been so long since they had hugged one another—if they even had—that it was as if they had forgotten how. But Lillian held her tightly, her limbs shaking.

"I'm so glad you're alright," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was so worried, Catey."

Cate felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her at the use of her nickname. It had been so many years since Lillian had called her that, Cate had forgotten that she ever had. For so long, Will had been the only one to do so.

"We'll need to tell Father, of course," said Lillian as they broke apart.

Cate looked at Daniel, startled. But he didn't seem surprised—had Lillian told him the truth? When? Why? But these wonderings were quickly overshadowed.… Oh, God. Oh, God, she didn't know. She had no idea.

"I can't recall what ship he said he'd be on," Lillian continued, unaware of the horror seeping through Cate's veins. "Of course, he and I haven't corresponded much as of late… did he tell you? I thought he was still on the _Olympic_."

"Lillian," Cate whispered, too quietly for her sister to hear. She closed her eyes as Lillian continued to babble.

"We'll have to send a telegram," she said. "Did you tell him you would be on board? Even if he looks at the passenger list, he might not realize it; they spelled your name wrong, you see, that's why we were so worried: we weren't sure it was you—"

"Lillian," Cate repeated, loudly. She felt sick. She wanted to run and hide. She wanted to be at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

"What?" Lillian appeared startled. "What is it?"

Cate swallowed. Would she ever be rid of this ever-present lump in her throat? "Da…" she said, feeling like a pot about to spill over, "Da was on board… he was on _Titanic_."

Lillian stared at her, apparently uncomprehendingly. But Daniel immediately placed a protective arm around her waist; he understood.

"He was?" she said, looking around, as if expecting him to suddenly materialize from between the people that smothered them. "Then where is he? Is he still on the rescue ship? When will he disembark?"

"He…" Why? Why did it have to be her? Hot tears burned her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. Lillian's chin began to tremble. Her blue eyes widened.

" _Where is he_?" Lillian repeated shrilly. But her voice wavered. Her hands were shaking as she gripped Cate's arm. "Where is he, Cate? When will he get here?"

But Cate couldn't say anything. She placed her fingers over her mouth, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. She shook her head.

"Where is Da?" Lillian nearly shrieked. "Is he hurt? Where is he, Cate? _Where_?"

Cate hadn't heard Lillian call him "Da" in years, and it finally broke her. Her body shaking, tears pouring from her eyes, she managed to say amidst her sobs, "He didn't make it."

For a moment, Lillian could only stare at her in horror. Daniel tried to pull her into his arms, but she pushed him away. Then, at last, she broke, too. A wail rose and escaped, and she clung desperately to her sister, crying like she never had before. It had been years since they had gotten along, years since they had been on the same page. But now they stood together on the pier underneath the pouring rain, clinging to one another, united in their grief.

* * *

It was a long time before they had been able to compose themselves enough for Daniel to lead them to where the car waited. It appeared that upon learning that _Titanic_ had sunk, Daniel and Lillian had taken a train from Philadelphia to await the rescue ship. The Norcrosses, knowing that their future-daughter-in-law's sister was on board, had sent along their chauffeur so they could rent a motor to take them to and from the pier. The Altons had elected to remain in Philadelphia, although they had given the order for their Manhattan penthouse to be opened.

After helping Lillian and Cate into the back seat of the blue Case limousine, Daniel turned to Esther.

"I know Miss Cate is very grateful, sir," she said, keeping her eyes on the ground, "to you and your parents. Please thank them on her behalf."

Daniel smiled warmly at her, though his smile was sad. "Of course, Esther." As he took the Chinese sewing box from her, they both froze as one of James' gloves fell to the road between them. Cate, who sat in the back of the car, her eyes on the floor, did not see. But Esther stared in horror at the glove, looking from it to Daniel. He, too, looked at it for a moment before he crouched down to pick it up. It was obviously a man's glove. Did he wonder to whom it belonged? Would he assume that it had been Will's? Or an admirer of Esther's?

"No harm done," he assured her quietly, smiling again. He exchanged the glove for the box and allowed her to take his arm as she climbed into the front seat of the limousine. When she was seated, he handed her the box once more and got into the back seat with Lillian and Cate.

The drive to the Altons' penthouse, a journey that would normally take minutes, took well over an hour in the thick traffic that congested Manhattan's streets. Mr. Brannon, the Norcrosses' chauffeur, pressed the horn angrily, but it made no difference. In the back seat, Cate and Lillian continued to cling to one another, holding tightly to each other's hand as they inched away from the docks and Battery Park.

"Your grandparents are still in Philadelphia," Daniel said, breaking the silence that had consumed them since they had started for the car. "They would like you to take the nine o'clock train and meet them there tomorrow."

Cate barely heard him. Countless people were trying to peer through the darkened windows of the limousine, trying to catch a glimpse of what was doubtlessly a _Titanic_ Survivor. And a rich one, at that.

As they drove on and on, stopping and going, Cate thought back to the first time she had ever set foot in America. She and Lillian had been five years old, and they had clung desperately to their father's hands as he led them down the gangway. They had been met by the Altons' coach, which had taken them down the dusty New York streets to the penthouse which was once again their destination. Only now, Will was not with them. He never would be again. Cate wondered if Lillian was thinking the same thing. Was she, too, going over her memories of their father? Thinking of his smile, his embrace, his laugh? How he called her his lily petal? How he, for years after everyone else had stopped, continued to call her "Lilly?" Was she thinking of the fact that, the last time they had seen each other, almost a year-and-a-half ago, they had argued?

It was hours before the limousine finally pulled up alongside the tall, brick building. The chauffeur immediately leapt from his seat to open the back door, but Daniel beat him to it, climbing out and holding out a hand to help Lillian and then Cate. As Mr. Brannon assisted Esther down from the front seat, Daniel said,

"Mrs. Scott has had your rooms made up, and Rebecca will have dinner made for you." He spoke of the head housekeeper and the cook that the Altons hired whenever they were in Manhattan for an extended period of time, rather than dragging anyone of their main staff along from Philadelphia.

"I'm not hungry," Cate muttered blearily, "but thank you."

Daniel nodded. "Esther, there's dinner for you, too, in the kitchen."

Esther bobbed a quick curtsey, still clutching the box and the gloves. "Thank you, sir," she said gratefully.

Daniel glanced very briefly between his fiancée and Cate, and Lillian nodded, allowing him to take Cate's arm and assist her into the building. It was something she would never have stood for under any other circumstance, but she seemed to be keenly aware of her sister's state, how exhausted she was, eying the blood she had not quite managed to completely wash from her hair. Once they were through the doors and had taken the lift all the way to the top floor, Cate almost flinched, half-expecting her grandmother to be lying in wait, though she knew she was in Pennsylvania.

The greatest portion of the Alton penthouse was a large, open room with grand windows that overlooked the heart of New York. It was rather like a gargantuan hotel suite, with a narrow corridor off to the side for the bedrooms and its own kitchen and dining room on the opposite side. Daniel led Cate to the room that had always been hers when they stayed there, which, sure enough, had been made up, a fire lit in the grate, a vase of tulips perched on the bedside table.

When they looked at one another, Daniel looked as if there was a great deal he wanted to say. But he knew it would all be fruitless. So, before turning back to his fiancée, he kissed his future-sister-in-law on the cheek and wished her a good night. As he looked at Lillian, Cate felt a pang of sadness. No matter how they had come to be together, he loved her—anyone could see it. He wrapped a protective arm around her and, as Cate closed the door, they departed down the corridor.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 _Monday, January 2, 1893_

 _The White Star Pub_

 _Liverpool, England_

Bright sunlight streamed into the room, casting golden beams with swirling dust mites onto the floor. Will looked into the full-length mirror as he straightened his tie, glancing at the woman who lay sleeping behind him. She lay on her stomach, her cascades of dark hair thrown over the beautiful face that was pressed into a pillow. The sheet was twisted at her waist, revealing the ivory skin of her bare back. Part of him wanted to wake her to say "goodbye," but he didn't know what effect it would have—would she be ambivalent? Would she be horrified at the remembrance that they had spent the night together? Neither of them had been intoxicated, of course, but what if, in the light of day, she came to the full realization of what had transpired and she regretted it?

Will tore his eyes from her sleeping form and focused once more on the tying of his tie. Why was he taking so long? Why did his fingers keep fumbling? It wasn't as if this young woman, this Sophie Alton, was the first woman he had ever been with intimately, but she had affected him in a way that he couldn't understand, couldn't explain even to himself. He'd never been the type of bloke to meet a lass and bed her that same night, but there wasn't a single part of him that regretted any of it. Not that he had any delusions of what was to come: now that the snow had stopped falling, she would go on south to Wiltshire and he would continue north to Dalbeattie. It was highly unlikely that they would see each other again.

When that thought entered his brain, he turned away from the mirror and looked at Sophie as she stirred. She inhaled deeply and stretched, simultaneously brushing the clumps of raven hair from over her face. There was no bashfulness as she rolled over and looked at him blearily from underneath heavy, tired lids, no hasty attempt to cover herself with the sheet.

"I would have thought you'd have left already," she said groggily. There was something about the sleep in her voice, the utter fatigue that made her sound so much more innocent and fragile than he knew her to be.

For the first time, Will hesitated. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ to leave, it was only that he felt he had to. What else could he do?

"I'm leaving soon," he replied, smoothing his blond hair. "Does that upset you?"

Sophie shrugged, looking around the room. They had learned a lot about each other last night, talking down in the pub until the wee hours of the morning. He had learned that she was eighteen, the daughter of an English viscount and a French-Canadian socialite who had both immigrated to America. Her older brother was the heir to their father's title and half of the Alton fortune, and so Sophie had been married off at the young age of seventeen to John Widdick, a man twice her age. That, she had said, was where Wiltshire came into play: John was from there, that is, she said, until he was killed in a train crash. She had said all of this calmly with very little emotion, surprising him.

"I'm so sorry," Will had muttered, stunned that this eighteen-year-old woman was a widow.

Sophie had waved her hand flippantly. "Don't be," she had said. "It was an arranged marriage, and I didn't particularly care for him. He died back in November while I was visiting Mother and Father…. I'm only just now going home to collect my things from the manor so I can move back to Philadelphia."

He had wanted to ask more questions, but he had already learned enough about her to realize that that would likely only serve to annoy her. So she had asked about him, instead, and he had told her of his family back in Scotland and his life as a sailor, how he was hoping to obtain his second mate's certificate that summer and, one day, be the captain of a major vessel, though now, at not quite twenty, it seemed like a lofty goal.

"Be sure to write to me when you're a famous captain," Sophie had teased, taking another sip of her wine.

"I'll write to you as often as you like," Will had said boldly.

He wasn't sure how long they had continued to chat before, finally, Will had said he needed to see if there was a room available for him. But before he could rise to his feet, Sophie had smiled coyly.

"I can already tell you," she had said, her dark eyes glinting in the firelight, "there will be plenty of room for you."

Now, in the light of a clear morning, Will found he didn't want to leave. He crossed the length of the room and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. She didn't pull away, but she didn't move closer, either. Sophie lay on her back, looking up at him through half-closed eyes, clearly still waking up.

"Do you think you'll make it up to Scotland today, Captain Murdoch?" Sophie asked, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

Will smiled. He wanted to reach over and stroke her beautiful, porcelain skin, but he resisted the urge. "I hope so," he replied. "It's not snowing any longer, and it looks as if the trains are running again, so you and I both will probably make it to our destinations."

"Lucky me." Sophie groaned and pulled herself into a sitting position so that their faces were level with one another, the sheet resting shamelessly at her waist. "You could stay for breakfast," she suggested slowly.

Will's interest was piqued. "What kind of breakfast did you have in mind?"

With a smile, Sophie closed the gap that had remained between them, gently pressing her lips to his. The desire that he had had to rush off to Dalbeattie the night before had completely vanished, and now he has having trouble seeing anything past this dingy room.

When the time did come, though, for them to part, it came all too soon. She wrapped the sheet around her bare body and rose from the bed, walking with him to the door.

"Alice will be in soon,"she said, glancing at the clock on wall, "my maid. I need to get ready to leave."

Suitcase in hand, Will wasn't sure what to say. He had left his name and address on a scrap of paper for her to do with as she pleased, but he couldn't help but feel a certain reluctance as he looked down at her, this beautiful girl who had so enraptured him.

"Goodbye then," he said, reaching for the door handle. He knew, even after everything that had happened the night before, even though she wore only a bed sheet wrapped around her body, that it would be too bold of him to kiss her.

She smiled, just a bit. "Goodbye, William."

* * *

 _Friday, April 19, 1912_

 _The Alton Penthouse_

 _New York City, New York_

 _Nineteen Years and Four Months Later_

Cal Hockley.

Cate's eyes snapped open. She had slept fitfully, tossing and turning and waking every hour or so in a cold sweat, images of James, and Will, and _Titanic_ speeding through her head, all dying and screaming in agony, but the last thing she had seen before jolting awake was the image of Cal Hockley, that suave, debonair man who had lost his fiancée in the sinking. It felt as if there was something on the tip of her tongue, something she knew or thought about him but couldn't recall. She thought back, trying to think of what it was. They had been in the same lifeboat, of course, but before that, she hadn't seen him since before dinner when he was looking for Rose. Right? She groaned, turning slowly onto her side. Her memories of that terrible night were muddled…. She supposed it had to do with hitting her head on the hull of the collapsible. Her head was still throbbing from the impact, a terrible aching that refused to dissipate.

For a while, she lay in her bed as the sky began lightening behind the thin curtains that covered her window. She missed waking up with the comforting hum of the engines far below her. She missed the warm, excited anticipation of seeing her father and James later. Cate thought back to Sunday morning, how light and happy she had been, how she had sung at the church service with gladness and no guilt or fear in her heart. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then, but it had only been five days.

How could it have only been five days?

Slowly, trying to keep herself from jostling her head and causing the waves of throbbing pain, Cate rose into a sitting position—it was more than she had managed to do by herself since the ship sank; every other day, Esther had had to come and insist that she get up. She heaved herself from the bed and shuffled across the cold floor to the tall window, looking out at the city that, even at this early hour, was bustling and busy. In the distance, glinting in the bright sunlight, was the green roof of the Waldorf-Astoria. She thought of Madeleine Astor, pregnant and without her husband. Cate's heart was not the only broken one in that city.

She groaned aloud at the sudden realization that she would be seeing her grandparents that day. It made her want to crawl back under the covers and never emerge. Adam was tolerable in the best of times, but Beth… she was a living nightmare. Cate shook her head and leaned forward to gently rest her forehead on the cool glass of the window. How could she do this? Taking her life minute by minute was exhausting, but it was all she could do to keep herself going.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"Miss Cate?"

There was a knock, accompanied by Esther's voice. Her maid walked in a moment later, carrying a breakfast tray and a dress draped over her arm.

"Rebecca's made you something to eat," she said, placing the tray onto bed. "I told her you wouldn't eat much, so she made some toast and orange juice. But she'll make you some more if that's not enough."

"I'm not hungry." Nothing seemed remotely appetizing—why should she eat when her father and James couldn't? She had scarcely eaten a bite since they had been rescued by _Carpathia_ , and she didn't particularly care to change that. "But thank you."

Esther frowned. "Miss Lillian was kind enough to lend you one of her dresses," she continued, draping the dress on the back of the chair in front of the vanity.

Cate stared at the ensemble of dark blue and white. "Does she have nothing in black?" she asked, her voice strangely dull.

"I'm afraid not, miss," Esther said, sounding apologetic. "She didn't bring anything black… she didn't… well—"

"She didn't know she'd need it," Cate finished for her, that familiar stab of pain stabbing through her heart.

 _My father is dead_. How many times would she be forced to think that thought for the rest of her life? When would it stop hurting so much?

There was another knock at the door. Cate and Esther glanced at one another for a moment, confused, and Cate was thrown back to the hotel in Southampton, the South Western, when they had been awaiting Will's arrival. When he had finally come, his knock had thrown them into such a state of shock that it had taken them both a moment to remember what to do.

Esther scurried to the door and peeked through the crack.

"Hello, Esther." Cate was surprised to hear Daniel's voice. "I'm sorry to bother you both, but Cate has a visitor… an Officer Adkins. Is she decent?"

Esther paused. "No… no, sir. Not yet. But I'll have her ready in just a moment if you would be so kind as to tell her visitor."

When Esther closed the door, she hurried back to pick up the dress.

"I supposed breakfast will have to wait, miss," she said as Cate gingerly pulled off her nightdress. Cate didn't bother to express her relief by this fact.

Esther helped her dress as quickly as possible without agitating her head wound, electing to leave her hair down in a low braid that started at the top of her spine so as not to pull her hair any more than necessary. Cate hated that she couldn't wear black, which was the only appropriate color to wear in times such as these, but what choice did she have?

Esther, in the absence of any footmen, led Cate to the parlor. The policeman, a man in a dark uniform with a round helmet under his arm and a star-shaped badge pinned to his chest, stood examining a painting of Beth in her youth. Daniel, who sat in one of the armchairs, rose when she entered.

The policeman turned. "Miss Catharine Alton, I presume?" he said. "I'm Officer Adkins, here to deliver these to you."

He handed Cate a stack of papers tied together with twine. There was a lot there, but she had only to read the first two lines to know what it all entailed: "CATHARINE HÉLÈNE ALTON—You are commanded to appear at twelve o'clock noon on Saturday, April the 27th in the year 1912 at the Russell Senate Office Building in Washington D.C. in regards to the sinking of the RMS Titanic on the morning of Monday, April the 15th."

After Officer Adkins left, showed to the door by Esther, Daniel came over to read over Cate's shoulder.

"A subpoena?" he said, surprised. "I wonder why they want to speak to you?"

Cate shrugged, sitting down on the love seat. "Because of Grandfather, probably," she said, staring at the top page of the subpoena. Why _did_ they want to speak to her, an eighteen-year-old woman from first class? What could she possibly have to add to the others' testimonies?

They looked up when Lillian entered. Daniel smiled his gentle smile and walked over to meet her, kissing her cheek. Her blue eyes were red and puffy, and she looked fairly uncomfortable in her violet dress. But she squeezed Daniel's hand gratefully before crossing the room and sitting beside her sister.

"Thank you for the dress," said Cate, staring at the floor. "I suppose I'll have to go shopping… I don't have any other clothes."

"You can borrow mine until then," Lillian assured her, though she, too, stared off into space. Though they sat next to each other, it was as if they were trapped on different planets, locked in their own respective grief.

"We need to leave in about an hour," said Daniel, glancing at his gold pocket watch.

Cate closed her eyes, trying to mentally prepare herself to see her grandparents. But it was no use; she was _never_ prepared to see them. And now, under these circumstances, the idea of having to face them made her want to run and hide.

* * *

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

Leaving New York, Cate almost felt a second sense of loss. The survivors of the sinking were now scattering across the country, and with every second that passed, Cate was father and farther away from those who understood what she had gone through and was still going through. She knew she would see some again, those in her grandparents' "circle," such as the Ryersons, but the others would be nothing but figures in the background of her memories.

No one spoke much once they had boarded the train; Daniel immediately buried himself in newspapers, while neither Lillian nor Cate could think of anything to say. She glanced over at the front page of Daniel's newspaper, reading it silently. There were no pictures, but the headline said it all: " _745 SAW TITANIC SINK WITH 1,595, HER BAND PLAYING; HIT ICEBERG AT 21 KNOTS AND TORE HER BOTTOM OUT;_ _'I'LL FOLLOW THE SHIP,' LAST WORDS OF CAPT. SMITH, MANY WOMEN STAYED TO PERISH WITH HUSBANDS._ " Off to the side was a smaller article: "206 _CREW AND 4 OFFICERS AMONG THOSE RESCUED_."

It was like a punch to the gut. Four officers. That's all Will and James were to the rest of the world: a statistic. People only cared about the wealthy people they thought they knew simply because they knew their name: Mr. Astor, Mr. Guggenheim. But what about everyone else? What about Will and James? And Mr. Ryerson, and Rose Dewitt Bukater, and Quigg Baxter? Why weren't their names not plastered on the front page of every newspaper for everyone in the world to see? How could the world continue to function when so many people were missing from it?

And the women who had stayed behind with their husbands… Cate found herself wishing more than ever that she had stayed behind with the man who was to have one day been her husband. She had resigned herself to it until James had found her standing on the Boat Deck. Then, for that fleeting moment, she had thought that there was a chance for all three of them to survive. If she had known what awaited her once she climbed back into the collapsible, Cate wasn't sure she would have done it…. She tried to remember how she had gotten there, how she had found the strength to propel herself up from the water, but everything was a frustrating blur. One moment, she had been thrown from the boat, then she had hit her head, and then suddenly she was in the boat again, shivering and wet. With Will and James nowhere to be found.

Part of her wanted to ask Daniel if she could read the article, but she knew it wouldn't help anything. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what had really happened that night, to hear her father's and James' names brought up casually as merely characters in a drama, not men who had lived, and breathed, and mattered. Perhaps it would be natural if she wanted to know what exactly had led to their deaths, but she knew both of them had been on duty when _Titanic_ struck the iceberg, and she didn't want to hear anyone claim that it had been their fault, and she certainly didn't want to know if there was anything they could have done differently.

The ride from Penn Station in New York to Broad Street Station in Philadelphia seemed to take no time at all. All too soon, they were walking off the train and onto the platform as Esther, Hazel Woods, Niall Casey—Lillian's maid and Daniel's valet—and Mr. Brannon joined them, walking up the length of the electric train from the third class section. Daniel led the way from the station and out onto the street where, at last, they were met by the Altons' chauffeur, who had parked the shining black Renault beside the Norcrosses' motor, which had been left there by Mr. Brannon.

Lillian and Daniel climbed into the back of the car, but Cate hesitated. It was a one-way ticket, she felt, to world from which she would never escape. She felt as if once she entered the Altons' mansion, she would never come back out. But when Mr. Holloway cleared his throat, his hand held out to her, she finally crossed to where he waited beside the car's open door. This was it. There was no going back.

In the back seat of the motor as they rumbled along the familiar streets, Cate leaned her head against the side and closed her eyes. Her head was aching again, seeming to beat in a tandem rhythm to the bumps and jolts of the car. She and Lillian had barely spoken a word to each other all that day. It was as if the death of their father had placed them on separate islands, too far to reach one another. When Will's brother, James, had died in 1906, the entire Murdoch family had united together. But Cate and Lillian seemed to have drifted even further away, despite their brief embrace on the pier.

She wouldn't cry, Cate decided as the car turned onto the Altons' street. She wouldn't let her grandparents see her vulnerable, and she certainly wouldn't give Beth the satisfaction of seeing her weep.

When she was little, Cate had complained to Lillian that going up the drive to the Altons' mansion took nearly as long as the voyage across the Atlantic had. But this was only after Cate had grown used to living in such an opulent, grand place. The first time she had laid eyes on the Alton Estate, she had been stunned into silence, her blue eyes round as saucers. Now, nearly thirteen years later, Cate felt herself succumb to that same silence. The drive had always symbolized so much: the return to misery living with her grandparents and a restrictive life. For a short while, she had thought she would never feel that way again. And now she had returned to it, as if nothing had happened.

The house was one of the largest in the area, designed just to fit Beth's tastes. It was a long, Colonial-style building, perfectly symmetrical with its tall windows and dark green shutters. Thirteen windows on each floor. Cate had found herself counting them every single time she returned to this place after an absence. She had memorized the façade of the house, able to pick out which window was Lillian's, which was the parlor, which was the dining room. She hated it. It stood, large and imposing, looming over them with swirling, iron gray clouds behind it. Cate felt like they were children arriving at a witch's house in a fairytale.

The two cars pulled to a stop at the apex of the circular drive. Immediately, the Altons' two footmen emerged from the front doors, one going to immediately begin unloading the second car and the other to assist Lillian and Cate. Usually, whenever Adam and Beth returned from a voyage, the entire staff would line up outside to greet them. But it was only Henry and Arthur.

"Where are our grandparents, Henry?" Lillian asked, immediately masking any grief she might have felt.

"Lord and Lady Cowanshire are in the drawing room, miss," Henry replied as he helped Cate from the car. "They've requested that you and Miss Catharine join them there."

"Of course, they have," Cate muttered. It wasn't normally something she would have said aloud. She thought she saw Henry give her a second glance out of the corner of her eye, but perhaps she imagined it.

Henry led the way up the steps and into the house. As they followed him, Cate glanced at Esther as she emerged from the second car, her mistress's items still clutched tightly in her hands. Lillian sighed, removing her gloves as they walked through the foyer and past the staircase of dark oak, handing them to one of the maids without pausing in her stride.

The first thing one saw when entering the drawing room was a larger than life portrait hanging above the mantle. It depicted a strikingly beautiful young woman with waves of dark, almost black, hair, with ivory-colored skin and high, chiseled cheekbones: Cate's mother, Sophie. She seemed to gaze down upon them imperiously, one eyebrow arched. Cate had often wondered how her mother had held such a pose for so long.

"Miss Lillian Alton, Miss Catharine Alton, and Mr. Daniel Norcross," Henry announced as they crossed through the archway into the drawing room.

Sitting on a long sofa in the center of the room were Adam and Beth Alton. Adam, a tall man with snow-white hair and dark eyes, stood when they entered. His wife, on the other hand, remained where she sat. Élisabeth Alton was a formidable woman, her iron gray curls pinned just so on her head, an imperious expression upon her face that matched her daughter's portrait.

"Welcome back," Adam said, certainly giving them a warmer welcome than his wife. "Catharine, we are quite glad to see that you are well. Aren't we, Beth?"

Beth glanced, almost bored, at Adam before looking over at Cate. She didn't bother to put on any sort of front about being a good person in front of Daniel; with him set to marry Lillian in a matter of months and clearly head over heels in love with her, she knew there was no frightening him off with her bad attitude.

"I suppose we'll need to replace your entire wardrobe," she sighed, shaking her head. "And your trunks… _and_ your jewelry… did you manage to save _anything_?"

Cate's jaw and fists clenched. It was taking every ounce of willpower she possessed not to scream and rage, to put everything into perspective for this terrible woman. So, she held her tongue.

When Cate was silent, Lillian glanced at her before speaking. "I think she saved a couple things," she said, her tone cold. "But no clothes or jewels."

Beth let out another long sigh. "Heavens, if _I_ found myself on a sinking ship, the first thing I would do is save my possessions."

"Well, Beth, let's just thank God you were not on that ship," said Adam, sounding annoyed. "And let's remember what's important: Catharine is alive and well."

Beth looked like she wanted to contest this, but she said nothing for a moment. She took a breath before speaking again.

"Go get Esther," she said, "and both of you go shopping. You'll need some immediate items, and I can order the rest to make sure you have _suitable_ ensembles."

"I did do a bit of shopping in Southampton," she said, speaking for the first time since entering the room, the memory suddenly occurring to her—it seemed ages ago. "They'll be shipped over soon, I imagine."

Beth arched an eyebrow. "And how did you pay for this shopping?"

Cate met her gaze squarely, unflinchingly. "The bill will be shipped along with the clothes."

Beth opened her mouth, probably to scold, but Adam quickly cut her off.

"Excellent," he said. "We want you to feel free to do so, Catharine. But I'm afraid you're grandmother is right: you will need some clothes for the more immediate future until your dresses arrive from Southampton."

Beth looked up at him angrily. "You're _afraid_ I'm right—"

"Cate needs to be seen by a physician," Lillian interrupted, glancing at her sister. "She has stitches; I think she hit her head."

Beth muttered something nearly unintelligible that sounded like, "Well, that explains it," but Adam ignored her. On the contrary, he looked concerned.

"I see," he said. "Well, we'll have Dr. Roberts come and examine you, Catharine, and you can rest for the remainder of the day. Lillian, do you object to her continuing to borrow some clothes until she can go shopping tomorrow?"

"Of course, not."

"Excellent. Then, Catharine, why don't you go up and rest until luncheon? I'll send for Dr. Roberts at once."

As much as she didn't want to be grateful, she was. Adam did not usually stand up to his wife—in fact, she had scarcely heard him speak so much in one sitting. But she nodded and thanked him quietly before excusing herself.

* * *

After Dr. Roberts left, Cate stood in the bedroom that had always been hers. Though it had been unoccupied for months, Esther had done her best to make it more welcoming—opening the sash so that the lacy curtains billowed slightly in the cool breeze. It was all familiar—the large bed with its four tall, ornately carved posts, the matching bureau, the writing desk, the tall mirror in the corner.

The doctor had examined her thoroughly, especially the stitches in her scalp, eventually proclaiming that the doctor aboard the _Carpathia_ had done everything perfectly, and that the wound should heal with no problems. He supported Esther's decision not to pin Cate's hair, and instructed her to keep this up until they were removed in the next couple of days.

As she stood there, Cate let the silence consume her. Lillian was strolling the grounds with Daniel, Beth and Adam were still downstairs, Esther was up in the attics, and Cate was finally alone. The only sound to be heard was the occasional rustle of the wind, or a bird chirping cheerfully outside. Her eyes fell on her teddy bear, which Esther had placed upon one of the pillows on the bed. The bear had a rather sad look upon his light brown face, and his stiff arms were posed so that he seemed to be reaching out to her, his white paws turned upward. Though she had been ten when Will had given her the bear, she had been overjoyed at the gift, hugging it tightly and immediately proclaiming that his name was to be "William."

" _I love you, Catey_."

A sob burst from Cate's lips as she heard her father's voice in her mind, so clearly that it was as if he stood beside her. She felt herself falling and didn't try to stop, her knees hitting the rug that covered the dark, oak planks of the floor. She covered her face in her hands, her fingers gripping at her hair and tugging the stitches painfully. How could this be? How could this possibly be? Why had they left her so alone?

"Did you miss me?"

Cate started. She jerked her head up, stunned to see James kneeling beside her, a gentle smile alight on his handsome face, the dimples she adored showing in his cheeks.

"James," she breathed. "You're—"

James reached forward to take her hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing them.

"I told you I'd come back to you," he said. "Did you doubt?"

Cate stared at him. Was this real? Was she hallucinating? It seemed so vivid, him sitting beside her, his warm skin, his breath against her fingers. Relief flooded through her. He was alive. Her James was alive! She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his hands on hers. She couldn't stop the tears from continuing to flood down her cheeks, with no end in sight. Finally! It had seemed ages, rather than just days, that she had been waiting for him. And now, finally, he had returned.

There was a knock on the door.

When Cate opened her eyes again, she was alone. Esther was knocking on the door, and she was alone in the room. The gust blowing through the open window had grown cold, causing goosebumps to erupt along her arms. James was nowhere to be seen, though she could still feel the warmth he had left on her hands. But she was alone. He had felt so real beside her, so warm and close. But her mind was playing tricks on her. Of course, James wasn't with her there in her bedroom. He was lying at the bottom of the ocean with her father.

"Miss Cate?"

When Cate couldn't respond, the door opened and Esther hurried in, scurrying over to kneel beside her on the floor.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. Cate was grateful she had not said "I'm sorry," or any of the other usual condolences; she had grown quite tired of hearing it, however well Esther meant.

"I saw—I saw—" Cate sobbed, but she couldn't bring herself to finish. How could she tell her maid that she had heard her dead father's voice so clearly, it was as if he was beside her? How could she say that she had seen and felt her lover speak to her and touch her, as if he had never died? She tried to tell herself it was due to a lack of sleep, but she couldn't help but wonder if she was going mad.

"Come on, miss," Esther said at least, gently pulling Cate to her feet. "What you need is a nice rest. Try to get some sleep."

Cate slowly changed into a dressing gown that Lillian had given her and stood still as Esther undid her long braid before leading her to the bed. Cate wanted to tell her that she didn't want to sleep, that every time she closed her eyes, she saw visions of her father and fiancé dying in horrific ways. But she lay down on the soft mattress and pulled the heavy bedclothes over her body, up to her shoulders.

"Ring if you need me, miss," said Esther.

After she left, Cate lay there staring at the opposite side of the room. She realized how selfish she was being: Esther hadn't lost anyone during the sinking, but she had still experience something terribly traumatic; she had heard the screams, had seen the ship break apart, had seen people fall to their deaths. Yet all Cate had been able to do was focus on her own grief, her own pain. She wanted to call her back, to apologize, but she couldn't make herself. It was as if Will and James had both clapped a hand over her mouth—one prevented her from speaking, the other prevented her from moving. She was stuck. Frozen.

* * *

" _The great question that seems to hover over us, though, seems to drift lower and lower with each passing second: what will happen when the ship docks in New York?_ "

She had had no idea. There had not been the slightest clue of what would happen by the time Cate reached New York. She had read through her diary entries, pulling the salt-stained book from where it had stayed safely in the Chinese sewing box and turning the pages gingerly. Tears had filled her eyes and stained the words even further as she read, reliving her meeting with James and she had so quickly fallen in love with him. " _James told me he loved me today_." She would never again be able to write that. Cate thought back to the person she had been exactly one week ago, the person who had written this diary entry. James and Will had been alive then. Cate had thought she was unhappy with having to hide her relationship from her father, but she never would have been able to fathom what awaited her only a week later.

Since falling into an uneasy, fitful sleep that afternoon, Cate had not left the bedroom. She hadn't even bothered to dress again, and she hadn't touched the tray of luncheon and dinner that Esther had brought up for her. The very thought of eating made her queasy, and she wondered, again, why she should eat or enjoy food when Will and James couldn't. So, to distract herself until she was fatigued enough to fall asleep again, she went to the writing desk, picked up a fountain pen, and poised over the next blank page in her diary.

 _I don_ _'t even know what I can say. So much has changed in the past week since I last wrote in here that I hardly feel like the same person. In the span of a week, I told a man I loved him, I slept with him, I agreed to marry him, and I lost both him and my father when_ _Titanic_ _sank. Both James and my father are dead. And I don_ _'t know what to do now._

She wrote, and wrote, and wrote. She wrote until her left hand ached and burned all the way up her wrist. She wrote until the clock on the desk chimed nine, then ten, then eleven. Cate wrote everything in minute detail: every little thing she could remember that had happened in the past week since James had told her that he loved her. When she took a moment to remember what happened next, she found herself absently writing "James" and "Da" in the margins of the pages, over and over like a mantra. She was just getting to the part where Esther woke her up on Sunday evening when there was a knock on her bedroom door.

Cate paused, confused. Esther had already bid her a good night when it became clear that she had no intention of changing or eating dinner. So, assuming it was Lillian, she closed the diary, wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around her body, and walked to the door. When she saw that it was Adam waiting in the corridor, she froze.

Seeing her surprise, Adam smiled ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Catharine," he said in his soft, English lilt. "May I come in?"

Saying nothing, Cate opened the door wider so he could enter. He walked in and looked around, sitting down on the desk chair she had just vacated. She sat on the edge of her bed, glancing about awkwardly, wondering what he could possibly want. In her entire life, she could not remember having a one-on-one conversation with her maternal grandfather.

Adam cleared his throat before speaking. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said again. "And ordinarily I wouldn't have, as I'm sure you know, especially at such a late hour. But I've just finished reading an account of the inquiries they're holding in New York about the sinking."

Cate said nothing.

"The second officer," Adam continued, "Charles Lightoller, I believe his name is, mentioned one of the other officers to whom he had reported. He said his name was William Murdoch, and that he did not survive."

Cate closed her eyes. She hadn't been sure how long it would take her grandparents to learn that her father had been on board, but she hadn't realized it would be so soon. And she certainly hadn't expected Adam to approach her about it.

"He was speaking of your father, was he not?" Adam asked quietly.

A lump had risen in her throat, and Cate silently cursed herself for being unable to control her emotions. But whenever his name was mentioned, a clear picture of her father's face appeared in her mind's eye, and she missed him with such a longing that she ached.

"Yes," she whispered. "My father was _Titanic_ 's first officer."

Adam sighed heavily. "I'm so very sorry. I know how terrible this must be for you."

Cate wanted to scream that he had no idea, no possible inkling of how terrible this was for her. He had lost his father years ago, it was true, but he hadn't lost him and the person he loved in the same night, seeing all of his dreams turned to ash. He had no idea. But she knew, in spite of his ignorance, he was trying to be kind. It was certainly more than his wife would ever attempt.

"Thank you," she said at last, staring at the floor.

"Please," Adam said slowly, "try not to let anything your grandmother says… affect you… I know she can be… difficult to deal with at times."

 _At times_? Cate wanted to snarl. But she resisted. So she merely nodded and continued accepting his condolences as she knew she should. He was trying to be kind, she kept reminding herself. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

After he left, presumably to go speak to Lillian, Cate walked to the seat he had just vacated and, without pausing in her movement, pulled the diary back to her. She seized the fountain pen once more and continued writing where she had left off. She wrote about Esther waking her, and going to the lounge, and up to the Boat Deck, and seeing Will, and refusing to get into the boat. She wrote as the clock chimed twelve, and then one, and then two. She wrote as tears streamed down her face, and her hand and wrist burned, and her eyes blurred. But she continued writing. It was the only way to prevent herself from stopping to think.


	3. Chapter Three

**Hey, everyone. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I know it's not the same without James and Will, but I hope you'll all give Cate's continuing story a chance. :) -PB**

 **Chapter Three**

 _Monday, May 8, 1893_

 _Stanley Dock_

 _Liverpool, England_

Will couldn't focus. The words on the page before him had begun to blur, and all he could think about was going outside, away from this stuffy flat. But he had to focus. He had to study if he wanted to obtain his second mate's certificate. And he had to have the certificate if he wanted to be a captain one day.

So he had to study.

With a groan, he slumped forward onto the table. It was the first nice day that Liverpool had had in months, and he was stuck indoors. He felt like a boy locked in the schoolhouse, gazing longingly out the windows why the teacher droned on, and on, and on. It wasn't as if he was interested in what he was studying; after all, he was studying for something he wanted more than anything in the world. He just didn't want to do it right at that very moment.

When he heard the mail slide in through the front door, he jolted up. Finally! A distraction! A small one, it was true, but it would give him a good few minutes away from the book. He rose from where he sat at the table and crossed the tiny room to the door, picking up the small stack of letters. One from his parents, one from his sister, one from a cousin. He sank down onto a threadbare armchair and tore open the one from his parents. Inside was a small piece of paper and a second envelope. His brow furrowed.

" _Will_ ," his mother had scrawled on the piece of paper _,_ " _we received this letter and elected to forward it to you, rather than hold it until we next see you. Love, Mum_."

Ever more confused, Will flipped over the second envelope and froze when he saw the name written in the top corner: Sophie Alton.

For a moment, Will could only stare at her name. Sophie Alton. He had left her his parents' address in Dalbeattie, as he hadn't yet rented a flat there in Liverpool, but he hadn't actually expected her to ever write to him. What could she possibly want? Over the weeks following that snowy evening, Will had wondered about her often: how she was, wondering if her rich parents had married her off to someone else yet. But he had begun to think of her less and less. This was the first time he had thought about her in weeks and weeks. Finally, he tore open the second envelope and turned over the page inside.

 _Dear William,_

 _I'm writing to you from Montreal, where my mother is from. I can't remember if I told you that. I'm staying with her sister, my aunt Josephine, for some months; I've been here for two weeks now, and it still hasn't warmed up. I'm starting to think it never will._

 _But I'm going on. There's a reason I'm writing to you, and it's the same reason I'm in Montreal. I'm sure you never expected to hear from me again, no matter how hard it was to part from one another back in January. Indeed, I never expected to write to you. And I can't bring myself to regret what happened, even now. Even after all that's happened._

 _I'm pregnant, Will. I'm expecting our child some time in October; a doctor confirmed my condition in April after I was sick for some weeks. My mother is furious, of course, and ashamed, and so she sent me here to live in exile with Aunt Josephine until the baby is born._

 _The baby is yours, of course. I hope you don't doubt it. You are the only man I have been with since my husband died, and even then, he and I had not been intimate for some time before he died. It is only possible for the baby to be yours. Please know that I would not lie to you._

 _I've already made my decision, and now I'm offering one to you. When the baby is born, I am going to return to Philadelphia without it. My mother convinced me that that would be best. You have two choices: you can ignore this letter and the baby will be given to an orphanage here in Montreal, or you can come here to claim the baby and raise it as your own. I can assure you, I will not interfere in either case._

 _I will wait in Montreal for you no later than the end of October. You have until then to come and claim the baby if you want it._

 _Yours,_

 _Sophie Alton_

For a moment, Will seemed to forget how to breathe. The letter was shaking in his hands, and he was staring at some blank spot on the wall, trying to process what he had read. Sophie pregnant? How could this be? It had only been one time, one passing moment…. Waves of nausea rolled through him and he hunched over on the chair, struggling to regain his composure. Pregnant… pregnant… pregnant… Sophie was pregnant, and the child was his.

Was it his? Sophie seemed insistent that it was, but how could he be certain? He didn't even know her, so how could he know that meeting strange men at a pub and bedding with them for a night was not something she did regularly? How could he know for sure that she hadn't been intimate with her husband for several months before he died? There was no way to know, and if he came to claim the child and it wasn't his… his life would be over. Hell, his life would be over even if it _was_ his child.

Will shook his head, tossing the letter to the floor. This was ridiculous. He couldn't go to Montreal, he couldn't become a father. He was twenty years old with his whole life ahead of him! No, Sophie would have to give the baby up to an orphanage, and that would be that. It probably wasn't even his, anyway. If he _did_ go to Montreal, he would probably see immediately that the child wasn't his, and it would be just a waste of money to go all the way out there.

With that in mind, Will tossed the letter to the floor and rose. He walked back to the table and sat once more, pulling the heavy book to him and willing himself to focus. He needed to focus. He had to be ready to get his second mate's certificate.

* * *

 _Saturday, April 20, 1912_

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

 _Eighteen Years and Eleven Months Later_

Cate awoke to footsteps sounding across the bedroom as Esther went to deposit a breakfast tray atop the bed before going to open the curtains of the tall window. Over her arm was draped a shapeless, black dress. As she lifted the heavy sash, a light breeze billowed in from outside, as if it had been lying in wait, waiting to come in. Cate lay there on her side, staring at the bedroom door. _I'm still here_ , she thought blearily. _I'm still here, and they're still not_.

"What time is it?" Cate moaned, pulling the covers further up her body.

"Seven o'clock, miss," said Esther, sounding apologetic. "Lady Cowanshire was insistent that you did not sleep in today. Miss Lillian was kind enough to let you borrow one of her black dresses."

Cate sighed, turning over onto her back and reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes. Lillian was doing her best, she realized, amidst her own grief. But she was distant, more distant than Cate had expected her to be after their reunion on the pier. Perhaps this was how she dealt with her sorrow. Perhaps Daniel was helping her.

"I've brought you some breakfast," Esther continued, going back over the bed to fluff up the pillows and help Cate sit up. "There's some orange juice, some toast, some eggs—"

"I'm not hungry."

Esther frowned. "Miss Cate, you really must eat."

"I have absolutely no appetite," Cate grumbled. She knew she was being disagreeable, but the very thought of food made her stomach churn.

"Your father wouldn't want—"

"My father is dead, so we can't know what he would want, can we?" Cate snapped.

Esther looked at her, the corners of her mouth turned downward, looking as if Cate had struck her across the face. Immediately, Cate felt a rush of guilt sear through her like fire. Not only did Esther not deserve such verbal abuse, but she was right: Will would be furious if he knew she was not eating as much as she should. She sighed, lowering her eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry, Esther," she said, passing a hand over your face. "I don't mean to take out my frustration on you. Please forgive me."

And so, obediently, Cate reached over to pick up a piece of toast. It tasted like sawdust, but she nibbled it and Esther visibly relaxed.

"Of course, miss," she said, walking over and sitting down on the edge of Cate's bed. "I know what you're going through is terribly difficult, and I'm sorry to badger you. I only want you to be healthy."

"I know," Cate said quietly, taking small bites of the toast. "I just… have no appetite. But I'll try."

Esther smiled gratefully and went to rise from the bed, but Cate quickly grabbed her wrist.

"Wait," she said, placing the toast back down onto the tray, "I'm afraid I've been very inattentive to you lately. I've not thought about what _you_ went through. I know it must have been a terrible night for you, as well."

Esther was silent for a moment. She swallowed, looking off into space when she next spoke. "I don't think about it much," she said softly. "I was scared, of course—scared that our boat would capsize, and yet terrible guilty that there were only twelve of us. Twelve, miss! Twelve people, and one of the men said there was room for fifty more! I beg God every night to forgive me for being in that boat when so many others could have been there, too."

Cate reached over to place her hand over Esther's. She wanted to know why her father had lowered a boat with so few people, but what other choice did he have? There hadn't been anyone else near, and anyone who had been around refused to leave the ship.

"And," Esther continued, "I kept thinking of you running away, how I should I have grabbed you, how I felt I had let your father down by not making you come with me. He looked so upset as he lowered our boat."

A strange mixture of guilt and sadness, combined with something else she couldn't quite place, tore through her like a knife. She hated that she had put him through that torment, of course, that fear that she would not board a boat. But she couldn't bring herself to regret her decision, as it had led to her finding James one last time.

Oh, her James. The image of his face in her mind's eye brought a combination of adoration and sorrow to her heart. Just a week ago, they had promised to marry one another, but now that would never happen. She wished more than anything that they had been able to marry on _Titanic_ , to be bound together for all eternity, rather than just a few hours. A week. How long would it be before she stopped measuring time in relation to the sinking of _Titanic_? When would she think of it as another day, rather than a week, two weeks, three months since the sinking? When, she wondered, would she feel whole again?

A knock on the door startled both of them from their conversation. Esther rose immediately to answer it, but as she did so, a voice sounded from out in the corridor.

"Cate, it's Lillian. Are you decent?"

Cate sighed. "No—"

But without giving her a chance to finish, the door opened and Lillian strode in, already dressed and perfectly coiffed for the day. She wore all black, her honey blond hair pinned underneath a wide, black hat with black roses pinned along the sash.

"I'm going shopping with you," she announced, sweeping in and sitting down on the chaise. "Grand-mère thinks it's ridiculous to dress in black and go shopping, but if I don't get away from her, I'm afraid I'll scream."

Cate raised her eyebrows. "Did you tell her why you're dressed in black?"

Lillian shrugged. "I didn't have to. Grandfather found out in the papers covering the inquiries, and he told her. He came to see me last night."

Cate sighed again, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. "He came to see me, too," she said. "I'd hoped he wouldn't tell Grand-mère quite yet."

"She had to find out eventually," said Lillian, turning and looking out the window. "Her bedroom door was cracked open as I was passing to go to the wash room, and I overheard him tell her. You won't believe what she said."

It took all of Cate's willpower to keep from groaning aloud. "I'm sure I'll believe it," she said. "Though I'm not sure I want to know."

"Grandfather told her, 'Murdoch was on the ship and didn't make it, Beth. The girls lost their father.' And she was silent a moment before saying, 'Well, that's thirty-five pounds we'll save every month.'"

Esther looked positively stunned, but for a moment, Cate couldn't breathe or think. Rage surged through her like electricity and hatred boiled in her veins.

"Oh, that woman," she growled through gritted teeth, clenching her fists. She threw the covers from her body and stood, not caring at the quick movement made her head woozy. "That wicked, cruel bitch!"

Lillian arched an eyebrow. "My," she said mildly, "that's not a word I've heard you use before."

"She is!" Cate snarled, whirling around to face her sister. "That's what she is, Lillian! She has no feeling, no thought for anyone but herself! She's revolting!"

"Oh, I quite agree," said Lillian. "But best keep your voice down, lest you should bring her wrath down upon you and find yourself confined to your room like when we were six."

"I don't care what she does," Cate snapped. "She can lock me up until the day I die, for all I care. I don't have anything left to live for, anyway."

Now, for the first time, Lillian looked truly surprised. "Catey," she said quietly, now sounding quite gentle, "you don't… surely, you don't…" But she seemed to be at a loss for words. She stood and crossed the room to where her sister stood, taking her hands in her own. "We'll get through this, Catey. We'll get through it together, you and I."

But Lillian had no idea. She was hurting, too, of course, but she was under the impression that Will was the only person whom Cate was mourning. She had no idea of James' existence, no idea the guilt Cate felt when she thought of him, worrying that she was mourning him too much and not mourning her father enough, and vice versa. She had no idea of the future her sister had lost.

* * *

 _Broad Street_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

Shopping with Lillian in Philadelphia did not bring back memories and nostalgia of old times. In fact, it felt quite odd to be walking along the crowded sidewalks with her, aware that people were glancing at them and then looking back with renewed interest when they realized that they were identical. By the time Lillian had developed an interest in fashion and wearing what she wanted to, as opposed to what Beth ordered for her, she and Cate had already grown quite apart and had no desire to spend more time together than necessary.

"What colors do you like?" Lillian asked as they peered into the window of a shop for hats and gloves. "Personally, I think we look best in pastels, but you'll need darker colors for evening gowns, as well. Blue brings out our eyes the best."

Cate thought of the red dress she had worn last Sunday in James' cabin, how she had felt so daring to wear it, a color that had always been reserved for Sophie.

"I like red," she said at last.

Lillian raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Do you?" she said. "Well, then. We won't find many day dresses in red, but we can certainly find some evening gowns for you. And if Grand-mère doesn't like it, she can lump it."

By the end of the afternoon, they had ordered a large number of dresses, gowns, gloves, hats, and jewels, all to be billed and sent to the Alton state that evening. As a treat to reward themselves for their hard work, Lillian led the way to a small cafe on the corner, sitting down at a wrought iron table out in the bright, cool sunlight. People bustled about them, chatting to one another, calling to people they knew across the street. Motorcars rumbled by, picking up dust from the road, and little urchin children chased after them gleefully. A chilly breeze blew, causing the two sisters to tighten their shawls around their shoulders, grateful for the sunlight that warmed them, even if just a little bit.

"I must say, we certainly have been productive," said Lillian, taking a sip of the tea that had just been brought to her.

When Cate said nothing, Lillian looked at her, studying her from the top of her cup before gently placing it down on its saucer.

"Cate," she said carefully, "are you alright?"

Cate looked at her sister incredulously, but before she could respond, Lillian continued quickly.

"I mean, other than the obvious," she said. "You seem to be… wallowing."

Cate closed her eyes for a moment, struggling not to snap at her. "It's been less than a week," she said slowly, "and you accuse me of wallowing because I'm not as… cheerful, as you?"

Lillian's jaw clenched and, for a moment, she looked angry. But she placed the cup back down gently and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "Cheerful?" she repeated at last. "Just because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve doesn't mean I'm cheerful, Cate, far from it. Have you considered the possibility that I realize the importance of putting on a good appearance? Or that I understand that I can't let this defeat me? You, however, seem to be perfectly content to be defeated."

Cate shook her head bitterly. "You have no idea—"

"No idea?" Lillian interrupted. "We lost the _same person_ , Cate. I didn't worship him like you did, and I was quite angry with him for a good portion of the time, but I loved him just as much as you did. You've just never known how to function in the world without him holding your hand, whereas I learned to stand up on my own a long time ago."

"You have no idea what it was like," Cate insisted, fury rising within her. "You have no idea what it was like to be on that ship, Lillian, no idea at all. You don't know how _close_ he was to boarding a boat: the very boat I was in! He was actually in the lifeboat at one point, but we were all thrown overboard. I made it back in, but he didn't. You don't know what it's like to wonder _why_ I made it when he didn't, what happened in those few precious moments that determined my survival and his death. So don't tell me I'm wallowing, or that I'm just not strong enough to live without him!"

Lillian had blanched a bit. "You're right," she said delicately, "I don't know. I'm glad I don't know, and I'm sorry that you do. But there's more to it, Cate. More than just what you went through that night."

Cate felt her heart skip a beat. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered. God, why had she always been such a terrible liar?

"I know you," Lillian insisted. "I can read your mind at the best of times, and you're hiding something. I don't know what, but there's something you're not telling me, or anyone, really."

 _I fell in love_ , Cate wanted to scream at her. _I fell in love with the most amazing man, and I lost him, too!_ But she couldn't. She didn't ever want to speak of James again. She wanted to keep him locked in her heart like Pandora's box.

"I'm not," Cate lied at last. "There's nothing. Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Lillian shrugged. "Maybe," she conceded. "Or maybe you're just as bad of a liar as you've always been."

* * *

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

That night, Cate sat in a nightgown on the chaise longue, an unopened book in her hand. It had taken some time to convince Lillian to drop the subject and head back to where Mr. Holloway, the chauffeur, was waiting to take them back to the mansion, and by then Cate was thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. But she had changed for dinner, as expected, into one of the black gowns that had arrived just in time for Adam to pull out his chequebook. Beth had insisted on going through each piece of clothing and jewelry to make sure she approved of everything, making the poor delivery boy wait on her, twisting his cap in his hands. Her lips pursed when she saw the red dresses, but she said nothing before, finally, nodding at Adam and allowing him to give the lad the cheque and his tip.

Dinner had been horrid, with no one among the four of them able to think of anything substantial to say. Towards the end of a nearly-silent meal, Beth had sighed loudly and said, "This just won't do! We'll have to invite some people over to lighten this table up. This is unacceptable!"

No one had bothered to reply.

Cate glanced down at the cover of the book in her hand. It was one of many that had been left behind in Philadelphia, rather than carted all over the world in a trunk that was now at the bottom of the ocean. _Dracula_ , _The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_ , _Sense and Sensibility_ … all of her very favorite books were gone, and while she could replace them, it would never be the same. She shook her head. What was the point in trying? She couldn't focus long enough to read a book, not with so many thoughts whirling through her head like a hurricane.

She thought back to her conversation with Esther, before they had been interrupted by Lillian breaking the door down. How terrifying it must have been for her, to sit bobbing in a lifeboat with eleven other strangers, feeling guilty that they didn't have more people, yet horrified that if they went to row back for others that they might be pulled down. Cate was sure Will had done everything he could and would have waited to lower the boat until it had more people if he'd been able. But there'd been no time… and no one had been near who was willing to get in. Not even Cate, his own daughter, had listened to him. She had run away, and he had stared after her, surely wondering if he would ever see her again. He had called desperately after her, and his voice seemed to echo in her brain….

But what if she had boarded the boat when he asked her to? She never would have seen James again, that much was certain. That would be the only thing that would have changed: that she never would have been swept up into his arms one last time, and he never would have been able to give her his gloves to keep her warm. She closed her eyes, remembering their last conversation, the last words they had shared.

He had tried to prepare her for what might happen. There were only two boats left for a thousand people, and they may not make it. What was it he had said? She struggled to remember his words exactly, but everything, especially at that point in the evening when she had hit her head, was blurry. She had tried not to listen to him, she hadn't wanted to hear him say that they may not survive.

"Listen to me, darling," he had said, his warm voice washing over her, as clearly as if he was sitting beside her, "There are two boats left—your father is loading one on the other side. He gave me an order to board a boat the minute I find you, and that's what we're going to go do. "

When had Will ordered James to board a boat when he found her? When had they had the time to stop and speak of her? Clearly, Will had been ready to do anything to ensure his daughter's safety, even if it meant another officer leaving the ship to do so. And James would have done it, of course. Not only was it his duty to obey his senior officer, but he had loved Cate… he would have done whatever it took to be with her. A lump rose in her throat at the thought. He had been so frantic when he had found her, demanding to know why she hadn't already boarded a boat. But if she had, she never would have seen him again….

James had been looking for her. From what he had said, it sounded like Will had sent him to look for her, had told James that she had not boarded the lifeboat when she had been able. That was why he had given James the order to board another lifeboat as soon as they could. But what if Cate _had_ boarded the boat? Would Will have assured James that she was alright? Would he have given the same order for him to board a boat, or would he simply decide that it was every man for himself once Cate was safe?

No, Will wouldn't have done that. He had insisted to Cate multiple times that both he and James would try to get onto a boat later. If he'd had the ability to save James' life and order him onto a boat, especially if he knew Cate was already safe, he would have. He had accepted their love for one another, he would have wanted James there to take care of Cate if he was given the choice.

Cate's eyes snapped open. If she had boarded the lifeboat when Will told her to… would James have survived? She could hear her father say it so clearly, could hear him order James into a boat, one he still had time to board without worrying it would float away or throw him out. "She's safe, lad," Will would say. "Man this boat now… make sure you take care of her."

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, no, not this.

Cate's breathing was coming in gasps. The heavy book slid from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She began shaking. No, no, no. It couldn't be. But it had to be. Will _would_ have ordered James into a boat if he'd known Cate was safe, wouldn't he? He had insisted to Cate that James would board a boat later. He wouldn't have let her down. Oh, God. It was her fault. It was all her fault. James had died because of her. She had killed him with her foolishness. She slipped from the chaise and fell to the floor, curling her knees up to her chest.

No, no, no. This couldn't be. Cate didn't realize she had been saying these thoughts aloud, sobbing and rocking back and forth until there was a frantic knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Lillian hurried in, her eyes wild and scared, her long hair flying behind her.

"Catey," she said, dropping to her knees beside her sister, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"I killed him," Cate sobbed, trying to pull away from her. "I killed him! It's my fault, it's all my fault!"

"No, you didn't, Catey," Lillian insisted, pulling her sister to her, holding her body against her chest and wrapping her arms around her. "You didn't, Catey, you didn't. You did nothing wrong."

"I did, I did! It's my fault! I killed James!"

Lillian stopped. She looked down at Cate, her brow furrowed. But her twin was in no state to be questioned or prodded. So Lillian held her, rocking back and forth like a mother and her child, smoothing Cate's long hair, whispering that everything would be okay and that she had done nothing wrong. Yet, in the back of her mind, the question burned: who was James?


	4. Chapter Four

**Hey, everyone. Comme toujours, thank you all for continuing to read, review, favorite, and follow. It means the world to me. This chapter is a bit of an info dump, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same. You may notice that I changed something that happened in the first installment, and that's because I noticed James Cameron is a bit of an idiot in that he placed Cal Hockley in the same boat that Harold Lowe would later round up and put Rose into. So I changed things a bit and decided that Harold rescued Collapsible A (the boat Cate and Cal were in) _before_ he went back to the water to look for survivors. Just thought I'd let you all know! -PB**

 **Chapter Four**

 _Wednesday, June 7, 1893_

 _Oakland Cottage_

 _Dalbeattie, Scotland_

Will sat at the scrubbed wooden table in the center of the kitchen, keenly aware that his mother was watching him with the eyes of the hawk. The stone cottage, nestled in the middle of town, was as familiar to him as the back of his hand: he had lived there for as long as he could remember, ever since he was quite a small child. After leaving to travel the seas, he had returned as often as possible, but he had never expected to return under such circumstances.

"When is she to give birth?" Jane Murdoch asked, her tone much gentler than he deserved.

Will sighed, thinking back to the letter. He had done his best to ignore it in the days since he had read it, crumpling it up and tossing it into a corner, but he'd been unable to ignore it completely. It had lingered there, gnawing at him, calling to him, reminding him that there was a child coming into the world that would bear his blood. And so, unable to control his guilt any longer, he had boarded a train for home, knowing his father would be away on a voyage, knowing it would just be him and his mother. There were his younger siblings, of course, but Jeanie was sixteen and would be out often. Sam and Maggie, aged thirteen and eleven respectively, could be shooed away easily enough. James and Agnes, his older brother and sister, no longer lived at home.

"William," Jane said sharply when he didn't answer, once again lost in his thoughts.

"October," said Will, startled. "I'm sorry… my mind is… everywhere."

"Which is understandable," said Jane, nodding. "And you're certain the child is yours?"

Will shrugged. "I'm not certain at all. She said in her letter that it could only be me, but…" he shifted uncomfortably; he definitely didn't like admitting this to his mother, "I don't know her well at all. We only met that one night in Liverpool."

Jane sighed, shaking her head. "I cannot deny that I'm disappointed in you, William," she said. "I thought you had more sense than this."

"So did I," Will muttered. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and placed his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do, Mum."

"Well, you know what you _should_ do," Jane corrected him. "You need to go to Canada."

Will groaned, now burying his face in his arms on the table. "But what if it's not mine?" he asked. "What if I go all the way to Canada, adopt this child, and it turns out to not even look like me in a few years? What if it's clearly not mine?"

"William," Jane said sternly, "look at me."

Will did as he was told.

"Now, there is a very real chance that this child is not yours. You're right: you don't know this Sally person—"

"Sophie," Will corrected automatically.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Yes, fine. You don't know this _Sophie_ person very well, but that didn't stop you from bedding her, did it? The child may not be yours, but it also very well might be. If you have a son or daughter out there in Canada, how can you ignore it? Can you let her give it to an orphanage simply because it _might_ not be yours? You'll spend your entire life wondering about that child, William, and I believe you'll feel guilty during every one of those moments, as well."

"But what if it's not mine?" Will insisted. "What if I bring the child back, and he has red hair, or light brown hair, or looks nothing like either Sophie or me? Why should I be responsible for something she did if I had no part in it?"

"What does Sophie look like?" Jane asked.

Will paused, thinking that woman's beautiful, unreal face. "She's pale," he said, "with very, very dark hair and dark eyes. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Then you must know how likely it is that, regardless of the child's father, it will look like her. It will most likely have her dark hair and eyes, especially if you, with your blond hair and blue eyes, are the father," said Jane. "But can you ignore the child based on the small chance that he might not be yours?"

"I think perhaps I can," Will muttered, feeling a bit like a petulant schoolboy.

"If that were the case," Jane said gently, "you wouldn't have come here, would you?"

Will sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair. "What about my future?" he asked. "I'm due to get my second mate's certificate this summer. I want to be a captain like Da. He had you to take care of us children when he was gone, but I won't have anyone. I won't be able to be on the sea, and there's nothing else out there for me. How can I raise a child when I can't even afford to keep it?"

"It'll be difficult," Jane agreed, "but not impossible. We had some difficult times at Sunnyside, but we made it through. And your father and I will be here to help you. Lydia is due any day now; she could act as a nurse by the time your baby is born."

She spoke of Will's sister-in-law, James' wife who was pregnant with their second child. James and Lydia were over the moon about being parents again; they absolutely adored their first child, a boy named Alexander, and wanted to have as many children as possible. So why couldn't Will feel the same way?

"William," Jane said sternly when he didn't reply, "you have always been a just person, and you have always done your best to do what is right. I know you know the answer to this: you've been told that you are to have a child born in October, and you can either be a father to that child or you can ignore it. What do you think is the right thing to do?"

* * *

 _Monday, April 22, 1912_

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

 _Eighteen Years and Ten Months Later_

It had taken quite a bit of time for Lillian to calm Cate down enough to help her crawl into the bed. But no sleep would come and rescue her from her tormented, guilty thoughts: she had killed James. He was dead because of her. If she had boarded the lifeboat when Will had told her to, he would still be alive. She had lain awake for the rest of the night, staring at the opposite side of the room until her eyes burned and her body ached from staying still for so long. Lillian had stayed for a while, but in the end, her own fatigue had won out and she had left her sister alone.

All throughout Sunday, Cate insisted she was ill and would see no one but Esther, who couldn't convince her to eat a single bite of food, nor get out of bed even to walk around the room. She felt that any progress, if indeed she had made any over the past week, had evaporated. She felt guilty for killing James and guilty for missing him so much when it was her fault he had died. Why hadn't she listened to her father and just gotten onto the lifeboat? Why did she have to be so stubborn?

On Monday, though, Cate rose slowly from the bed and walked to the tall window at overlooked the estate grounds. Down in the gardens, she could see Lillian strolling with Daniel underneath a beige parasol to shield them from the warm sunlight. The stable-hand was heading over to tend to the horses. Someone was cutting the grass. Life continued on, yet Cate felt stuck in some sort of stasis. It was nearing nine o'clock, but Esther had not yet come to wake her. Perhaps she had given up on her.

Sighing, Cate shuffled to the writing desk and sat. She couldn't think about James, no. She didn't deserve to think about him. So she focused her thoughts, instead, on her father. Her darling father who had loved her so much and sacrificed everything for her and her sister. She thought of his family, of his grieving parents who had already lost two of their children, of his siblings, of her own cousins. Surely, the news had reached them by now, even as remote as Dalbeattie seemed to be at times. But she couldn't ignore them, couldn't say nothing. They knew she had been with him and would have possibly been one of the last people to see him. They deserved to know what had happened that night. So, taking a breath, Cate pulled a pad of stationery and, a fountain pen poised in her left hand, began to write.

 _To my loving family,_

 _It is with heavy heart that I write you the news of the passing of my wonderful father, William Murdoch. I can stand before you and swear with every fiber of my being that he was a hero that night as the_ _Titanic_ _sank into the ocean. He did his absolute best to save the lives of all of those around him, whether they be first, second, or third class passengers, or crew members, or his own daughter. He fought until the very last moments of the ship_ _'s life and his own to continue helping people, including myself, to safety. I would not be here if it were not for him._

 _That night, in the face of death, my father displayed insurmountable courage. I had always thought him to be the bravest man in the world, but that night he truly proved it to me. He knew what fate likely awaited him, and yet he did not shirk in his duty to others. He was the most selfless, the most devoted man I have ever had the honor to know._

 _I miss him. I think of him often: his smile, his laugh, his wild stories from his voyages. I will always love him, and I know with my whole heart that he loved you, his cherished family, and thought of you all often. He carried you all with him always, just as I do, and just as I will now carry my father in my heart wherever I go._

 _I love you. I hope to see you soon._

 _Your ever loving,_

 _Catharine Murdoch_

When Cate placed down the pen, she felt drained. Tears had rolled down her cheeks to stain the paper, but she didn't suppose that mattered. She was amazed that she could sound so composed in a letter when, in reality, she felt as if her entire life was crumbling down around her, when she felt so wracked with guilt that she wanted to scream at every moment, when she knew that the deepest, most desperate desire of her heart was to be reunited with her father and James, one way or the other.

"I can't do it anymore," Cate moaned, burying her face in her hands. It was too exhausting to attempt to live any longer, too tiring to live under this façade that everything would one day be okay.

When the ink had dried, she traced her fingers over her signature. "Catharine Murdoch," it said: a name she had used so rarely and one she would likely never use again. Anyone who had known her as Cate Murdoch was either across the ocean or dead. With a sinking sensation, she realized the truth: Cate Murdoch had died along with Will and James, falling to the depths of the ocean with _Titanic_. Now only Cate Alton remained, a shell of her former self. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do to change that.

* * *

 _Friday, April 26, 1912_

 _En route to Washington D.C._

Cate twisted her hands nervously in her lap. Her grandfather was silently reading the newspaper, his aged face hidden behind the print of the _Public Ledger_ , on whose cover still bore stories of the sinking of _Titanic_. Every day, Adam had remarked, they reported what had taken place during the inquiries. He had asked gently if she wanted to know what had happened, as her father had been on duty when the ship struck the iceberg, but she had shaken her head jerkily. No, she couldn't know.

But was the public blaming him? What were people saying about him and James?

The past week had been agony. Beth had all but dragged Cate from her bedroom on Tuesday, insisting that she had "moped long enough." She commanded that Cate take a walk around the garden with her and Lillian, a torturous affair that required them to "mm" and "ah" dutifully when she said uninteresting things. As the time grew closer and closer for Cate to head to Washington D.C. to testify for the inquiries, she grew more and more nervous. What would they ask her? As irrational of a thought as it was, what if they asked her if she knew any of the officers personally? What would she say? She couldn't lie—she would be under oath.

The evening before, on Thursday, Adam had approached her where she sat in the library staring blankly at the books to tell her that he would be accompanying her to Washington D.C. They had also purchased a third-class train ticket for Esther, as well. Timidly, Cate had asked Lillian if she would attend, but Lillian had waved her away.

"I have last minute wedding planning," she had said, not looking up from her cross-stitching. "I don't have time to go gallivanting all over the country."

On Wednesday, Lillian had stopped bothering to wear black, saying that her friends were getting suspicious when her sister had survived the sinking. Why then, they wondered, would she wear black two months before her wedding? Cate had been furious, saying she was disrespecting their father, but, as usual, Lillian had rolled her eyes.

"I can assure you, Father is not up in Heaven sobbing because I'm not wearing black."

It bothered Cate that she could speak so flippantly of their father and his death, but she had realized that it was a lost cause trying to badger her sister into thinking the way she did. Perhaps treating everything as if it was a minor affair was how she dealt with her grief.

The landscape that sped past them outside the window of their compartment was starting to make her dizzy, so Cate tried to focus on the inquiry. She must be composed and poised. She could not, absolutely could not cry in front of those senators. The papers would love it, of course: " _ENGLISH VISCOUNT_ _'S GRANDDAUGHTER, FIRST-CLASS PASSENGER DISSOLVES INTO TEARS WHILE TESTIFYING_." Beth would be horrified, and she would never hear the end of it. Who would be there, other than the senators questioning her? Would any of the officers be there? Her heart gave an extra thump at the thought of seeing them again, the men who had worked so closely with her father and James. Mr. Lightoller, Mr. Pitman, Mr. Boxhall, Mr. Lowe. She continuously ran through their names in her head, wishing so badly for two more names to be added to the list.

As usual, every time she thought of James, a pang of guilt surged through her. She didn't deserve to think of him. She didn't deserve to miss him and long for him.

"Do you think they asked me to testify because of you?" Cate asked suddenly, quickly derailing that particular train of thought.

Adam lowered his paper and regarded her thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he said. "They haven't interviewed many passengers thus far, and no women at all yet. Perhaps they would like a fresh perspective on things. And I suppose, yes, that your grandfather is an English viscount helps your case. There were others of nobility on board, of course, but I suppose they've all already left the area."

Cate swallowed. "And… what if they… ask me about my father?"

Adam looked at her now, a bit sternly. "And why should they?" he asked. "Was there anyone on board who had reason to believe there was a connection between the two of you?"

 _The other officers_ , Cate thought. She tried to remember, probing her memory to recall if there had been anyone else who might have known. But there was no one. Mr. Andrews, of course, but he was dead.

"No," Cate said at last, deciding against telling her grandfather how often she had visited the Bridge. "There was no one."

"Then you have nothing to fear," said Adam, sounding satisfied.

But Cate wasn't mollified. What if, she kept thinking? What if?

When the train finally pulled into Union Station, Cate breathed a long sigh of relief; as nervous as she was about testifying, it was refreshing to be several hours away from her grandmother, even if she was being chaperoned by Adam. He, at least, was tolerable.

Adam led the way off the train and onto the platform, where they met Esther and Mr. Callaghan, Adam's valet, who quickly sped off in search of their luggage. It had taken a great deal of thought, but Cate had decided against bringing the Chinese sewing box. What was the point? James' gloves had been placed at the back of one of the drawers of her bureau, and there they would stay.

"Have you ever been to Washington D.C.?" Adam asked conversationally once Mr. Callaghan returned with a porter who carried their suitcases. They headed out of the station and onto the street to hail a taxi.

"No, sir."

"We should do some sight-seeing, then," Adam decided with a nod. "There's much to see while you're here."

This was the very last thing Cate wanted, but she nodded dutifully and followed him into a taxi. After checking into their rooms at the hotel and changing, they descended back onto the streets. Cate looked ambivalently out at the White House, the Washington Monument, the U.S. Capitol, and the Peace Monument, barely listening as her grandfather droned on and on about the history of the country.

When Adam pointed out the Russell Senate Office Building, though, an odd-looking building of marble perched on a street corner, Cate felt her heart leap to her throat. She had difficulty talking to only one person she didn't know. How was she supposed to speak to an entire room of them about the worst night of her life?

* * *

 _Saturday, April 27, 1912_

 _The Russell Senate Office Building_

 _Washington D.C._

Cate placed a hand over her abdomen as they walked up the steps of the Russell Senate Office Building, feeling terribly constricted by her corset and wishing she could run and hide until this was all over. Adam held her arm as he guided her, looking completely calm and collected. And why shouldn't he be? He was used to this sort of thing: walking into a room and immediately going to the first person he saw to strike up a conversation. And he wouldn't be testifying. She would be alone.

She had hardly gotten a moment's sleep the night before, instead tossing and turning the whole night long until the sky began to lighten on the other side of the window. When had she last been this nervous? Had she ever been? When it was finally time for her to rise, Esther had come to help her don a dress of dark blue. It wasn't black, but Beth had warned Cate before she left that she was, under no circumstances, to wear black to the inquiry. So Esther had found the darkest dress that Cate owned to compensate.

The beauty of the building's interior would normally have caused Cate to stop and look around, but all she could see were the countless people milling about, all men in suits. But Cate's eyes had immediately fallen upon a cluster of men who stood together, talking amongst themselves. They were no longer in uniform, but she had recognized them at once: _Titanic_ _'_ 's remaining officers.

As if he sensed her gaze, Harold Lowe turned his head and looked at her, recognition showing on his face. He began to walk toward her.

"Grandfather," Cate said suddenly, not wanting Adam to know she had met any of the other officers or spent any time on the Bridge, "I'm going to go speak with a fellow passenger."

It was a bold move, one she would certainly never have attempted with Beth. But Adam nodded and slid his arm from hers.

"I'll be over here if you should need me," he said. "We need to go in in about fifteen minutes."

He was gone by the time Harold reached her.

"How are you?" he asked, reaching out to shake her hand.

Cate swallowed a lump that had risen in her throat. His handsome, boyish face was achingly familiar; it reminded her of a world that was a gone, of a time when she had been happiest. He knew exactly what she had gone through. He had known Will and James. But his question made her pause. How on earth could she respond? She couldn't tell him that she could scarcely go an hour without bursting into tears, or that she spent every waking minute thinking of her father and trying to prevent herself from thinking of James, or that she knew she was at fault for his death.

"I've been better," she said at last. "And you?"

Harold shook his head. "These inquiries are a laugh," he said bitterly. "We all just want to go home, but we're stuck here until they release us."

"Have you testified yet?"

He looked at her curiously. "Have you not been reading the reports?"

"No," Cate admitted. "I've been avoiding them."

"I see. Well, yes, I testified this past Wednesday." He suddenly looked sheepish. "I'm afraid I wasn't on my _best_ behavior, I'll admit, but at least I didn't swing at anyone. Senator Smith is the most ridiculous questioner."

His attempt to make Cate smile almost worked.

"Are you testifying today?" she asked.

"No," said Harold. "Lights is again, though. And we saw that you would be testifying, so we wanted to support you, as well."

Cate blinked, surprised. "You did?"

Harold smiled gently. "Well, mostly Lights and me, but yes. As soon as I saw your name on the list, I knew I would be here."

Now, finally, Cate did smile, even if only for a fleeting moment. "Thank you," she said. "That means a great deal to me."

"Are you nervous?"

Cate let out a long, slow breath. "Very," she said. "I don't much enjoy talking to people I don't know."

"Well, it's not as if you'll be in court," Harold assured her. "You're not on trial, you'll just be sitting at a great, round table with men seated around you. They'll have deck plans and papers in the center of the table in case you need to indicate some location. But I'll sit across from you to put you at ease, alright? Just look at me and pretend you're only talking to me."

Once again, Cate smiled despite herself. "That sounds like something James would say."

Harold grinned. "He wasn't the _only_ nice bloke around," he said. "I think he rubbed off on me."

But Cate's smile was quickly interrupted with a stab of pain, longing, and guilt. She wanted to confide her worries in Harold, wanted him to convince her that she was wrong, that she hadn't led to James' death. But she knew she wouldn't be able to handle the truth. So, she changed the subject.

"I wonder what they'll ask me," she said.

"Basic stuff, I should think," said Harold. "Your name and where you're from, what class you were in, and then they'll probably just ask you to recount everything you did from the time the ship hit the berg."

"But," Cate swallowed nervously, "there were times when I spoke…" she lowered her voice so none of the other men milling about could hear, "to my father and… and James…. What do I say when I get to that part?"

But Harold looked surprised. "You saw Jim that night?"

"Briefly," Cate replied, trying not to think about the specific details of their conversation.

"Just be as honest as you can," Harold suggested. "Don't lie, but don't give unnecessary information."

Don't lie. As if she would have been able to while keeping a straight face, anyway. She was a terrible liar, as lying was never something she had done growing up. That was Lillian's territory.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the other three officers: Messrs Lightoller, Pitman, and Boxhall. They smiled warmly at her, but Cate found she couldn't quite return the movement, though she tried as she shook their hands. Will and James should have been with them, or ideally, none of them would be there at all, as the ship never would have sunk.

When a man called out that the day's testimonies were to begin, Cate felt jolted. Pale, she quickly said goodbye to the four men before crossing the hall to where her grandfather waited, speaking to an acquaintance.

"Who were those men?" Adam asked, taking her arm once more as they entered the room where the inquiry was to take place.

"Just some people I met on board," Cate replied vaguely, silently begging him not to pry. She knew they didn't look like first class passengers, but she didn't want to explain why she was acquainted with the ship's officers, lest he and Beth should worry that she had not been discrete about her true origins.

The room was large with small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and gargantuan, marble pillars. True to Harold's word, there was a large, mahogany table in the center of the room, upon which papers upon papers were scattered. Three serious-looking men were seated at the table, with everyone else taking seats surrounding them throughout the room. Once everyone had been seated, a stern-looking man with white hair—Senator Smith, she supposed—stood at the head of the table.

"The committee will call Charles Lightoller," he declared, "second officer aboard the RMS _Titanic_."

From where they were seated near the back of the room, Cate saw her grandfather glance at her. But she stared determinedly ahead, watching Mr. Lightoller—Lights—rise from his chair and go to that which they indicated at the table.

"Mr. Lightoller," Senator Smith began, "are you familiar with the ship's crew of the _Titanic_ when she left Southampton, and at the time of the accident?"

Cate blinked, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. What kind of a question was that? Why wouldn't Lights, the second officer, be familiar with the crew? And why had it been phrased so awkwardly?

Indeed, Lights also seemed fairly perplexed.

"You are speaking of the seamen, are you, sir?" he asked.

"Yes," said Smith.

"Yes, sir."

Smith's questioning continued along in that same strange way—he proceeded to ask if Lights knew who the second class barber had been, and then the first class barber. He then asked Lights to supply him with a complete list of the crew who had survived and, once Lights agreed, dismissed him.

It was a long day. Senator Smith next questioned Captain James Moore of the S.S. _Mount Temple_ before declaring a recess at twelve-thirty. Cate rose from her chair, doing her best to stretch discretely. She hadn't wanted to testify, but now it was taking so long to be able to, she simply wanted to get it over with. Captain Moore had droned on and on about icebergs and the temperature of water until she had almost fallen asleep.

"I think I'll go back to the hotel suite for luncheon," said Adam, glancing at his gold pocket watch. "Would you care to join me?"

Cate was surprised by him asking her what she wanted, rather than simply ordering her to accompany him.

"No, thank you, sir," she said. "I saw a cafe nearby—I think I'll go there for some coffee, if you don't mind."

Adam inclined his head. "Not at all," he said. "I shall meet you back here in time for the afternoon session."

* * *

The cool air outside was a blissful relief compared to the stuffy interior of the senate building. She felt exhausted, and it was only just past noon. She wanted to rip the wide-brimmed hat from her head and throw it into the streets, wrenching the pins from her hair to let her long, golden strands billow freely in the wind, her eyes closed. She wanted to run far, far, far away from this place.

But she couldn't. So instead, Cate sat down on a table on the patio of the cafe, always her favorite place to sit.

"Miss Murdoch?"

Cate was jolted back through time, seemingly through years but really only three weeks exactly. She had been sitting in Southampton, reading her copy of _Dracula_ with its bold, yellow cover, when James had approached her, startling her, not only because he'd spoken so suddenly, but by calling her "Miss Murdoch." But when she looked up from her mug of coffee, it was Harold Lowe who sat before her, not James.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Lowe?" Cate asked briskly, trying to hide her sudden sorrow.

"I saw you sitting here and wondered if I might join you."

"Of course," said Cate. As he sat, she said, "But I get the feeling that you feel the need to keep an eye out for me, or to take care of me. I assure you, you needn't do either."

"I don't feel either need," said Harold, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Perhaps I enjoy your company."

This was unlikely, she thought, but she didn't say so. What good would it do to argue?

"Do you know yet when you'll be able to go home?" she asked instead.

"Not yet," said Harold, sounding annoyed. "But there'll be the British inquiry to suffer through, as well. At least they'll know what they're doing, unlike these damned Americans." He glanced at her quickly. "Sorry."

Cate shrugged. "For your vulgarity or for insulting Americans? Neither offends me, I assure you. I'm not even American by blood. Although that's debatable, I suppose—one could have an argument as to when one becomes an American, since it's all one big melting pot."

"You don't sound American," Harold agreed. "You sound English with a hint of… I don't know what."

"We can blame that on boarding school," said Cate. She noticed how dull and unemotional her voice sounded. Was this yet another side effect of her grief, her constant companion? Is this how she would be from now on? "And you're Welsh, correct?"

"Yes," said Harold, nodding. "Anglican Welsh, at any rate. I speak Welsh, but it doesn't really sound like _real_ Welsh."

"It's the same when I speak French," said Cate.

There was a silence. Cate studied him. He had been James' closest friend on board the ship. Apparently, James had shared practically everything, being such an "honest chap," as Harold had called him. How often had James talked about her? What else had they talked about? What had James been like when she wasn't around? What had Will been like?

"Tell me more about James," she said at last, pushing aside the cruel voice in her head that whispered that she didn't deserve to know more about him. "Tell me about working with him on _Titanic_."

Harold thought for a moment. "He was bloody hilarious," he said at last. "He was probably one of the funniest blokes I've ever met, excluding myself, of course. Jim was always mucking about. Once the ship set sail and we had opposite schedules, we didn't see each other very often, but when we did, we made it count. Sometimes we'd take a quick smoke break together, and that's when he'd get serious. He was always serious when he smoked, no idea why."

Cate stared at him, her eyes wide. "He smoked?" she repeated.

Harold blinked. "Yes," he said, "all the time. It was probably his biggest vice. Why? You didn't know? He never smoked around you?"

But Cate was reeling. She couldn't picture James smoking. It was just impossible. How could she have had no idea that he'd smoked? Why had he never mentioned it, especially if it was such a great vice? What else didn't she know about him?

"No," Cate said faintly. "I'd had no idea." She felt her emotions welling up within her. She didn't want to cry in front of Harold, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop herself. "What _else_ is there that I don't know?" she asked, likely sounding a bit hysterical. "Did he have a girlfriend back in Leeds that I never knew about?"

Harold looked at her sadly. "You were the only woman I ever heard him speak of," he said quietly. "And he spoke of you constantly, I promise you. Ever since he saw you for the first time on the Bridge, you were all he could talk about. He talked about his life back home, of course, but in terms of anyone outside of family, it was you. It was only you."

Cate tried to be consoled. But she was forced to acknowledge that there had likely been a whole side to James that she didn't know, would never know about. They simply hadn't had time to fully get to know one another.

"Do you…" she whispered, "do you think he loved me?"

She expected Harold to be irritated, tired of her insecurities. But he placed a hand over hers atop the table.

"He adored you," he said gently. "I'd bet my life on it. James Moody loved you with every fiber of his being."

* * *

All too soon, it was time to return to the senate building. They entered together—though not arm-in-arm—not caring if anyone should talk. Indeed, Adam watched them across the room, his eyebrows raised, but he said nothing as she approached with Harold at her side.

"Grandfather," she said, no longer concerned with what her grandparents thought about her discretion about the ship, "may I introduce Mr. Harold Lowe? He was fifth officer aboard _Titanic_. Mr. Lowe, this is the Viscount Cowanshire, my grandfather."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, young man," said Adam, shaking his hand.

"And you, my lord," said Harold. "Your granddaughter is a marvelous person—you should be proud."

Cate flushed, and Adam smiled.

"Indeed I am," he said. "I remember reading your testimony in the papers; very impressive the way you held your temper against such questioning, even with a bit of feistiness, if I may use the term."

Harold grinned. "Thank you, my lord."

Cate was exceedingly relieved that Beth was not present. Having Harold meet her would have been mortifying, as she would have been as unbearable as usual. When the time came for afternoon session, they bid Harold goodbye before entering the room once more. Cate's heart seemed to skip a beat; it was almost time.

This session was much, much longer than the first. For six hours, Cate listened to different members of the crews talked about what had happened that night, whether or not there had been any suction, whether they had seen any icebergs. On and on it went. By eight o'clock, Cate was beginning to think they had forgotten her, or perhaps they had gotten the day wrong.

"I think that completes the crew, does it not, Mr. Cornelius?" Senator Smith looked at the man to his left.

"Yes, sir."

"Is Mr. Sammis here?"

"No, sir; he will be here Monday morning."

"Is Mr. Bottomley here?"

"He will be here Monday morning also."

"Then," Senator Smith said, shuffling through his papers, "for our final witness of the evening, I would like to call forth Miss Catharine Alton. Is she present?"

All heads turned toward her, the only woman in the room. Certain her face was bright red, Cate rose and weaved her way through the chairs to the table to sit across from Senator Smith. Just behind him and to his right, she could see Harold smiling at her. She felt better.

Once she had been sworn in by Senator Smith, she took a breath. This was it.

"Please state your full name," Smith said shortly.

"Catharine Hélène Alton." _Murdoch_ , she thought.

"And your age?"

"I will be nineteen at the end of August."

Cate saw some of the men glance at one another; were the surprised by how young she was? Were they wondering why a mere teenager had been called?

"Where do you reside, Miss Alton?"

"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

"You were on board the RMS _Titanic_?"

"Yes." _Why else would I be here?_ Cate thought.

"In what capacity?" asked Smith.

"I was a first class passenger."

"Were you traveling alone, Miss Alton?"

"No, I had my maid, Esther Bailey."

"Did she survive?"

"Yes," said Cate. What was the point in all these questions? Why did any of this matter?

"Where was your cabin located?"

"B-76." Cate was surprised she still remembered that inconsequential number and letter combination.

"On B-Deck?"

"Yes."

"Can you please indicate the location of your cabin?" asked Senator Smith, gesturing at the gargantuan blueprints for the ship that were spread out on the table.

Cate stood so she could see everything, leaning over as one of the other senators pushed the plans for B-Deck toward her. After scanning it for a moment, she found it, that tiny little block amongst countless others.

"It's there," she said. "B-76."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Smith cleared his throat. "What were you doing when the ship struck the iceberg?"

"I was sleeping. Esther came to wake me and said there was some emergency."

"Was this immediately after the ship struck the iceberg?"

Cate thought for a moment. "No," she said at last. "No, it was some time later."

"How much later?"

"I believe Esther said it was twelve-thirty."

"Twelve-thirty in the morning?"

It took everything in Cate not to roll her eyes. Of course, it was twelve-thirty in the morning!

"Yes."

"What did you do next?" Smith asked.

"We dressed," Cate said slowly, trying to remember as best she could, "put on coats, and went up to the Boat Deck." That was right, wasn't it?

"Did you see your stewardess throughout this?"

"No."

"Do you recall her name?" Smith looked through his papers but, evidently finding nothing, looked back up at her.

"Lucy."

"And her surname?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember." It was on the tip of her tongue; Cate knew her stewardess had told them her surname, but she had been fairly absent throughout the voyage, as all of Cate's needs had been met by Esther. Cate didn't even know whether her stewardess had survived or not.

"Did you put on a life-belt?"

"No." Cate realized, now, how foolish it had been to worry about how bulky the life-belts would have been.

"Very well. So you woke at twelve-thirty, dressed, and went to the Boat Deck?"

But Cate paused. "Wait," she sputtered, her cheeks flushing hot, "no, I'm sorry. I went to the Lounge first."

Senator Smith looked annoyed. He raised his eyebrows. "So you did not leave your stateroom on B-Deck and go straight to the Boat Deck?"

"No," said Cate. She felt as if her face was on fire. She looked at Harold, who smiled encouragingly.

"Then please explain, as exactly as you can, what exactly you did when you left your stateroom," said Senator Smith, now sounding thoroughly irritated.

"Esther and I went up the staircase to A-Deck," Cate said, now trying hard to remember. "We met Margaret Brown there, who said there was a sort of party going on in the Lounge because it was too loud and cold on the Boat Deck."

"Why would it have been too loud on the Boat Deck?"

"Because the funnels were blasting."

"Very well. Please continue."

"So we—Esther and I—went to the Lounge and spoke with Helen Newsom, a fellow passenger."

"Did anyone seem panicked?"

"Not at all. They were treating it like a sort of party, I suppose." Cate recalled the cheerful air in the Lounge, surrounded by so many people who'd had no idea they would die in a matter of hours.

"Did you stay in the Lounge?" Smith asked.

"Not long," said Cate. "We left fairly quickly after speaking to Helen and went up to the Boat Deck."

"Do you recall what you said to Helen Newsom?"

"No," said Cate, trying to think back. She knew she had mentioned that she and Karl Behr were lovers, but that didn't seem pertinent to the inquiry.

"And you're _sure_ you went up to the Boat Deck next?"

There was a smattering of quiet chuckles. Cate felt like fleeing underneath the table; indeed, she saw Harold's eyes narrow. Thankfully, neither he nor the other officers beside him smiled. She knew what she should do: she should smile graciously and play along, laughing at herself. That's what Lillian would do—that was why everyone found her so charming, not that she made a fool of herself very often. But Cate couldn't. All she could do was continue.

"Yes," she said shortly.

"Very well," said Senator Smith. He appeared to be smirking. "Please proceed."

So she continued. She told the senators how she and Esther went up to the Boat Deck to find the lifeboats being lowered, how Lights had asked them to board the one he was loading.

"You're certain it was Second Officer Lightoller?" said Senator Smith, looking mildly surprised.

"Yes," Cate replied coolly. "I can point him out, if you like—he's sitting behind you."

Now the officers smiled. Senator Smith, however, looked irked again.

"That won't be necessary," he said. "Why did you refuse to board a lifeboat at this time?"

So Cate explained how she and Esther wanted to retrieve their valuables from their respective cabins. Smith even went so far as to ask what they had gotten, as if that mattered.

"As we left the stateroom, I noticed that it was about one o'clock in the morning," said Cate, hoping to stave off his question before he asked it.

"One o'clock in the morning," Senator Smith muttered. "Please continue."

They had walked back up to the Boat Deck, this time on the starboard side. Cate did not say that this was because Lights had told her that that was where Will was loading boats.

"We approached a boat that was far forward—"

"Which?"

"I couldn't say."

"Could you indicate here, please, which boat it was?"

Cate leaned forward again, studying the blueprints, now of the Boat Deck. She pointed to a forward starboard boat.

"Boat Six?" said Smith.

"I daresay, yes."

"How many people were in this boat when you approached?"

"I couldn't say."

"Fewer than twenty?"

"I didn't really look, but I suppose it was fewer than twenty."

"How many passengers were inside?"

"I'm sorry, I can't say."

Senator Smith sighed. "Were Sir Cosmo and Lady Lucy Duff Gordon among the passengers in that boat?"

Cate wanted to yell for the thousandth time that she had no idea. But she held her tongue.

"I don't know," she said.

"Do you know which officer was loading the boat?"

"Yes," Cate said immediately. "First Officer Murdoch." Her heart squeezed like a vice. Would it ever not hurt to say his name?

"You're certain?"

"Yes," Cate almost whispered.

Senator Smith twisted around his chair.

"Mr. Lightoller, did the first officer survive?"

He may as well has stabbed a knife into Cate's heart. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as Lightoller replied, "No, sir." When she opened them, she met Harold's gaze, and he shook his head.

"Very well," said Smith, turning back to face Cate. "What happened next, Miss Alton?"

"My maid boarded the boat," said Cate, "with my valuables. I did not."

"Why not?"

Cate swallowed. What could she say? She couldn't very well explain that she had refused to board the boat because she wanted to die with the ship's first and sixth officers, that the man loading the boat had begged her to board it, had called desperately after her to no avail, neither knowing that this decision had led to the demise of another.

"I… panicked, I suppose," she stammered. That much was true, at least. "I didn't want to get into the boat, so… I didn't."

She wasn't lying, was she? It was the truth, she just wasn't giving explicit details.

"I see," said Senator Smith, raising her eyebrows. "So you didn't board Boat Six, being loaded by First Officer Murdoch, but your maid, Esther Bailey, did. Correct?"

"Yes."

"What did you do next?"

She had run. She had run, and run, desperate for a glimpse of James, but there had been nothing, as if he had never existed at all. But there was so much she couldn't tell the senator… how she had gone to James' cabin and held his shirt to her face, inhaling his scent, the scent she could still smell even now….

"I walked around," she said vaguely. "I wasn't sure what to do, but I was too frightened to board a lifeboat. Eventually, I went over to the port side and thought I saw lights on the horizon."

"Lights?" Senator Smith. "What sort of lights?"

"Green ones," said Cate. She explained how she had thought it was a nearby ship, and so she had run onto the Bridge to tell whoever might be there. But Fourth Officer Boxhall had already known, having tried repeatedly to hail them with his Morse lamp. Cate had felt hopeless. And when she had seen the water rushing onto the bow, she had felt panicked.

"Was there a list at this point?" asked the senator.

"Yes," said Cate. "I could feel it when I stood still, so I went to look out at the bow to see if there was any water. There was a good deal spilling over the very front, from what I could see in the darkness, and over the port side."

"Was the list to port or starboard?"

"Port."

"You're certain?"

Cate thought back, remembering how her body had adjusted automatically, how she had found herself leaning.

"Yes."

"What did you do next?"

Cate told how she had left the Bridge and began to wander aimlessly around the starboard side of the Boat Deck, eventually running into Quigg Baxter, how the panic had risen to a crescendo by this point as people realized the danger they were in.

"Miss Alton, did you witness any officers using firearms?"

"Yes."

"When and by whom?"

"When I was on the starboard side, people were attempting to rush the boat Mr. Lightoller was loading, and he fired several shots into the air to get them out of it."

"You're sure it was Mr. Lightoller?"

"Yes. I recognized his voice shouting. I was fairly near to the boat at this time."

"And you're certain that he fired the gun into the air?"

Cate glanced, very briefly, at Lights sitting behind the senator. He smiled ever so slightly, as if to encourage her.

"Yes," she said.

"Good," said Smith. "Did you board this boat?"

"No," said Cate, now realizing how strange her story was. Why had she taken so long to board a boat? "I… I couldn't get near this one, so I thought I would try on the port side. I'd heard someone say there was another boat over there."

"So you went to the port side after hearing Mr. Lightoller fire warning shots. How many shots did he fire?"

"Two or three, I think," said Cate.

She was, of course, moving past the part where James had found her and swept her into his arms before taking her to the port side. The way she spoke, she had gone alone to find the boat being swamped with three officers keeping the men at bay.

"Which officers were they?"

"Officers Wilde, Murdoch, and Moody."

Senator Smith stared at her. "You seem to be quite confident as to the identities of all the officers," he remarked. "Why might that be?"

Cate's throat went dry. "I…" she licked her lips, "I was given a tour of the Bridge on Sunday morning after the church service. Captain Smith introduced me to everyone."

"Who was there on the Bridge that morning?"

"Everyone but m—" Cate broke off suddenly, trying not to show her horror. She had so very nearly said "everyone but my father." "But Mr. Murdoch," she said at last. "I met him on a separate occasion."

"So the boat was being loaded by Officers Wilde, Murdoch, and Moody. Which was it?"

"Collapsible A." Without being asked, she stood and pointed to its location on the blueprints. "There."

"Thank you. Did you board the boat?"

"Not immediately," said Cate. "There was too much panic… I'm afraid my memory is a bit muddled from this point, you see. I hit my head on the hull of the collapsible when I was thrown into the water."

"But how did you come to be in the collapsible in the first place?" Smith asked, somewhat impatiently.

Cate struggled to remember, but it was no use. "I think I simply boarded it when the officers saw that I was a woman," she said. "But we were all thrown out… I don't know why. I couldn't even begin to tell you."

She recalled the cold sting of the water, how she had been weighted down by her heavy coat. But how had she gotten back into the collapsible? One moment she had been drowning, and the other someone had been pulling her in.

"Very well," Smith sighed. "What happened next?"

"We—that is, they, the men in the boat—rowed away from the ship. Someone shouted that there would be suction."

"Who was in charge of the boat?"

"No one," said Cate. "We had taken on water, and so we were rounded up by Mr. Lowe later on in the evening when he went to look for more survivors. We were all transferred to different boats and Collapsible A was sent adrift."

"Where any bodies left in the collapsible?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid it's still all muddled for me."

Senator Smith seemed to be growing annoyed with her inability to tell him exactly what had happened. But what could she do about it when she had hit her head? He continued questioning her on what it had been like in the collapsible—how many men, women, and children there had been, if they rowed back for survivors, how long until Harold rounded them up. But when she continued to be only able to give vague, unsatisfactory answers, he sighed.

"Very well," he said at last. "Is there anything else you wish to add, Miss Alton?"

"No."

"Then the witness may step down. The committee adjourns this session."

Cate blinked. That was it? She was done? When all of the men around her began standing, she did so, as well. Finally. She had done it, and it had been one of the most exhausting things she had ever done. But she had done it and it was over. She wasn't any closer to feeling better, nor to knowing what had happened during the sinking, but at least she felt a vague sense of accomplishment. And now she could imagine that maybe, just maybe, wherever he was, her father was proud of her.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 _Sunday, October 1, 1893_

 _The Home of Josephine Clément_

 _Montréal, Québec_

Will had planned it perfectly, he thought: he would arrive at the very beginning of October so he could be there for whenever Sophie would give birth. They had no way of knowing when exactly that would be, but she had said October. And so here he was, fresh off the boat. He had arrived the day before in New York from the S.S. _Majestic_ , the first time he had ever been only a passenger, and had taken a train upstate and into Canada. A cousin had accompanied him to act as a nurse for the baby until they were settled in Liverpool, but she had elected to remain at the hotel room so Will could see Sophie alone.

After he had spoken to his mother and decided what to do that past June, he had written to Sophie and told her that she was, under no circumstances, to give the baby to an orphanage, and that he would be there to take it. Sophie had written back, saying nothing but giving him the address where she was staying.

Montréal was like a different world compared to the other places he had been. It was also cold. The leaves were a brilliant orange, yellow, and red, fluttering about in the cool breeze as buggies, and carts, and people ambled past on the dusty streets. Everyone around him spoke French, all the signs in the windows were in French. When he stopped someone to ask for directions, they had simply stared at him before saying "No English" and walking away. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't find the house? Wander the streets calling Sophie's name? Eventually, though, he found someone who spoke English and who could tell him where to go, though they smiled a bit at his dreadful pronunciation of the street name.

Josephine Clément's house was situated at the end of a long, narrow street. It was a towering, brick townhouse that matched all the others around it, with three stories and a large maple tree dominating the minute front garden. Will stood at the bottom of the stoop and took a breath. This was it. He had traveled thousands of miles when he had thought, initially, that he would never see Sophie again. Now he would be returning to England with their child. He didn't even know when he would be returning; he had no idea when she would give birth.

Finally, when he could stand at the bottom of the stairs no longer, he climbed the steps and knocked three times. His heart felt like it was lodged in his throat. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry.

The door was opened a moment later by a young woman in a maid's outfit.

" _Oui, monsieur_?" she said, eying him up and down.

"Erm, hello," Will stammered, "I'm, er… here to see Sophie."

Comprehension dawned on the maid's face, and when she next spoke, it was in heavily-accented English.

"Oh," she said, nodding, "you are William?"

"Yes."

The maid nodded again and opened the door wider so he could enter. Will stepped into a narrow hallway and followed her down past the carpeted staircase to a parlor at the back of the house. There, sitting on a chaise longue and staring morosely out the window, was Sophie Alton. Her long, dark hair hung about her shoulders, and she wore a simple, white dress.

The maid said something in French, and Sophie looked up. There was no emotion on her face when she met Will's gaze. And it was only then that he noticed: she wasn't pregnant. Or at least, she didn't appear to be pregnant enough to give birth at any moment. Had he been tricked? Had she lied to him to bring him all the way out there? But she looked away, and he followed her gaze to a cradle with white lace just within her reach.

Will swallowed. "You… you gave birth already?" he sputtered.

Sophie nodded. "At the end of August."

He felt as if all of the wind had been knocked from his lungs. She had given birth? He was father? And he had been for over a month? Just like that?

"W-Why didn't you tell me?"

Sophie shrugged. "Because I knew you'd be here soon enough, anyway. Come see them."

Will started to step toward the cradle, but then stopped in his tracks. His eyes grew wide.

"Them?" he repeated, staring incredulously at her. But she only nodded at the cradle again.

When Will looked into the cradle for the first time, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered, as if everything else around them melted away. Nestled together inside warm blankets were not one, but two identical babies. One was fast asleep, but other gazed up at him with the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen.

"Twins," Sophie said softly. "I had no idea. I've already named them, I hope you don't mind."

But he wasn't listening. He was gazing at the two sleeping babies as if he'd never seen anything like them before. He was in shock. They were absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful, the two most utterly beautiful things he'd ever seen. Will's eyes had filled with tears as he looked at his two brand new children, and he didn't bother to stop them as he placed a hand over his mouth. He was a father! To twins!

"Will?" Sophie prompted.

Finally, Will forced himself to tear his gaze from the baby who seemed to look at him so steadily, as if it already knew he was its father.

"What are they?" he asked, sniffing and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I mean, are they boys, or—"

"Both girls," said Sophie, glancing past him at the cradle. "I named the oldest one Lillian Marie and the youngest Catharine Hélène. I call them Catey and Lilly."

"Catey and Lilly," Will whispered, turning back to the bassinet. The little newborn continued to look at him, moving ever so slightly under her blankets, but continued to keep her gaze locked on him. "Which is which?"

Sophie rose slowly and came to stand beside him at the cradle.

"This is Lilly," said Sophie, gently touching the blankets of the sleeping baby to her right, "and this is Catey." She brushed her fingertips against the cheek of the baby who looked silently at them.

"Hello, Catey," Will said softly, reaching over to stroke the baby's cheek before doing to the same to the other's.

Sophie looked at him. "You believe me, don't you?" she said, suddenly quite serious. "They're yours, you know. There's no one else but you."

But Will had eyes only for the two girls, his two beautiful daughters, the ones who had suddenly seemed to give his entire life new meaning and purpose.

"I know," he breathed. "I know."

* * *

 _Sunday, May 5, 1912_

 _Christ Church_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

 _Eighteen Years and Seven Months Later_

The crowd of people milled about the old, brick church, speaking in undertones and whispers. The casket at the front of the sanctuary was empty, the body of seventeen-year-old Rose Dewitt Bukater never having been found. Sitting alone in front pew had been Rose's mother, Ruth, dressed head-to-toe in black with a long, lace veil hanging over her face, and Cal Hockley, Rose's fiancé. Toward the middle of the church, Cate had sat with her sister, grandparents, and Daniel Norcross and his family. Word had spread quickly once Rose's memorial service had been scheduled that more and more bodies were being recovered, and every day Cate waited with bated breath for a letter from Scotland, her grandparents telling her that Will had been found. As for James, she knew she would never know.

But for that day, Cate thought of Rose. The three young ladies had practically grown up together, always being a part of the same circle. When Ruth brought Rose to visit, they would play for hours together in the gardens, or hiding in the attics. Once Cate and Lillian had begun at boarding school, however, they had drifted apart, seeing one another only very occasionally during the early summer. It had been a surprise to everyone when Rose debuted in society so early, not long after Cate's and Lillian's debuts just after they turned eighteen. It was an even bigger surprise when they learned that, only months later, at only seventeen, she became engaged to Caledon Hockley, Philadelphia's most eligible bachelor.

On _Titanic_ , Cate and Rose had spent more time together than they had in years, even though that was still a small amount of time. They had read together and eaten dinner together, and Cate had begun wondering at the shroud of melancholia that seemed to surround her when, as a child, she had been so full of life and laughter. So what had happened? What had changed? And why had Rose been one of only five women in first class not to survive?

Throughout the memorial service for Rose, Beth had been particularly somber. It was only as Cate saw her wipe away a stray tear that she realized: Beth knew what it was like to lose her child. She had lost both her children, first Michel in an accident and then Sophie to tuberculosis. She knew what it was like to be struck by the suddenness of the death of one's child and also to watch them suffer in agony for an extended period of time before finally being relieved by death. Cate felt a wave of pity for both her grandparents at that moment. Beth was many things, but no one could ever claim that she had not loved her children.

Once the memorial was over, there seemed to be an air of finality. Funerals and memorials were finally occurring all over the country. Mr. Ryerson, whose body had not been found, was to have a joint memorial service with his son's funeral in the coming week. Newspapers had printed that the body of Mr. Astor had been recovered, identified by the initials sewn on his jacket and the gold pocket watch he carried. The Altons and the Norcrosses rose from the stiff wooden pew and began to file out along with the others. When they reached the aisle, however, Beth seized Cate's wrist.

"Come," she said. "We must go speak with Ruth and Cal."

It was all Cate could do not to groan. She was utterly exhausted and had been since she'd returned from Washington D.C. with Adam the previous Sunday. After having gone days not sleeping on _Carpathia_ , she had now taken to napping for a bit in the afternoons. She simply couldn't keep her eyes open. But she followed her grandmother up to the front of the church where Ruth and Cal stood alone before the empty casket.

"Ruth," said Beth, immediately opening her arms and taking her friend into them.

Cate, feeling somewhat awkward and out of place, turned to Cal. He looked just as sleepless as he had on _Carpathia_ , just as pale with the same gray circles underneath his dark eyes. The difference was that he looked as handsome and suave as he had all those dinners, his dark hair slicked back, a bow tie perfectly straight at his throat. Underneath his arm was a velvet top hat.

"Cal," she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand gently. "I'm so sorry."

The smile Cal flashed her was quick and forced. "Thank you, Cate," he said.

Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of Cal's mother, Amanda, a beautiful woman with a kind smile. She gave Cate a quick hug and a kiss on both cheeks.

"Catharine," she said, smiling warmly, "we were ever so glad to hear that you were safe."

Cate wasn't sure how true this was, but she smiled, anyway and thanked her. She looked over to see Lillian and Daniel speaking with Julia Hockley, Cal's younger sister who was just about their age and one of Lillian's bridesmaids. When she turned back, she was startled to see Beth watching her, a shrewd look on her face. Whatever she was thinking, Cate knew, it probably wasn't anything good.

* * *

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

Beth was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, which Cate found unnerving. Lillian, however, brushed it off, saying that she was probably thinking hard of her own children whom she had lost, but Cate wasn't so sure. Certainly, Beth had been thinking of Michel and Sophie during the service, but now… what was she thinking now? Regardless, Beth's withdrawal gave Cate a chance to slide out from underneath her hawk-like gaze and retreat to her bedroom to rest, feeling thoroughly exhausted from the day's activities.

"Are you sure you're feeling quite well, miss?" Esther asked as she helped to take the pins from Cate's hair and let it fall down her back. "You've been sleeping quite a bit more than usual."

Cate shrugged, pushing her black dress down her shoulders. "Perhaps I'm coming down with something," she suggested, "which is all I need right now. I'm just tired, is all. I can't seem to get enough sleep."

Truthfully, sleep seemed to give Cate the only relief from thinking about her father and James, though the former's photograph was shut tightly in her diary and the latter's gloves were shoved in the back of a drawer. She tried hard not to think of either of them, but inevitably someone would say or do something that sent her spiraling back to memories of the two men she had loved most in world, one of whose deaths she had caused due to her selfishness. Sleeping helped.

When she woke later in time for dinner, she felt no more rested than she had before the nap, only a bit more irritable than before. While she waited for Esther to pick an evening gown from the wardrobe, Cate looked across the room at the Chinese sewing box. The sliding bottom compartment contained her diary, which, in turn, held the only photograph she had of her beloved father. A very strong part of her wanted to look at it, only to see the face she so adored, but she knew she would dissolve into tears and be quite unable to go down to dinner, which would only annoy Beth and cause her to suggest that Cate was going mad.

For once, no guests had been invited to dinner. It was just the four of them seated around the large table, Henry and Arthur waiting on them with silver trays laden with food. On one hand, Cate was glad not to be surrounded by countless people she didn't know; on the other, fewer people meant Beth had no one else to speak to, which meant she usually chose to scrutinize her granddaughters.

"I didn't know you had grown so close with Mr. Hockley," Beth remarked airily, looking at Cate from across the table as she sliced into her filet mignon.

"I didn't, either," Cate replied coolly. "It sounds as if you might be hallucinating, Grand-mère."

Beth's eyes narrowed. "No, I don't think so," she said. "Did you see him often on the ship?"

"I saw all of them often," said Cate, arching an eyebrow. "Their suite was in the same corridor as mine, and because they were some of the only people I knew, I had dinner with them several times. I also saw the Ryersons a lot. What does it matter?"

She knew she was being rude, but she didn't quite care at the moment.

Beth continued to glare at her. "Right now," she said, "you are one of the most eligible young ladies in Philadelphia. Your sister has, mercifully, been snatched up, and while we would have rather she have waited until a more… profitable prospect came along, she, at least, has done what is required of her."

Lillian, clearly angry at the slight against Daniel, opened her mouth to interject, but their grandmother cut her off.

"You, on the other hand," she continued, "have not attended a single event since your coming out gala in September. I've had to explain away your absence to everyone who has inquired about you, but I imagine most of them have lost interest by now, waiting for someone who seemed like she would never return."

"Grand-mère," said Cate, now growing irritated herself, "there is not the slightest part of me that cares. What is your point?"

Lillian coughed to cover a laugh that had burst forth. Indeed, Cate thought she saw even Adam smile the tiniest bit. But Beth looked furious.

"I don't know where this newfound attitude has come from," she said, splotches of color on her cheeks, "but it needs to stop this instant. My point, my _dear_ , is that on board that ship you seem to have already done some of my work for me by making the acquaintance of several young men."

"Most of those men," Cate said coldly, "are dead."

Beth waved her had dismissively. "Yes, yes, but not all of them. Caledon Hockley certainly isn't, and now he finds himself as Philadelphia's most eligible bachelor once again."

Cate stared at her in shock and horror. Beth was many things but this… this was a new low, even for her.

"Grand-mère," she said incredulously, "today was the memorial of his fiancée. Cal is grieving the woman he loved, and you're already trying to set him up with someone?"

"Not just someone," said Beth, a strange glint in her eye, " _you_. It would be perfect, of course: one of Philadelphia's richest bachelors with one of the city's richest young ladies. A tragic love story: two survivors of the greatest maritime disaster in history, brought together amidst their grief. Oh, everyone would eat it up."

"This isn't a novel, Grand-mère," Cate snapped. "It's real life."

"Nathan Hockley knows his son must marry, and soon," said Beth, continuing as if she hadn't spoken. "No one _really_ thought Cal's and Rose's relationship would work out, least of all Nathan, and now he will see it as if he's been given a reprieve. What the Hockleys must see, Catharine, is that _you_ are the best candidate. If I hadn't let you leave after your debut, it probably would have been you or Lillian engaged to him, not Rose. I'm still kicking myself for that, but no more. You're here to stay, and Cal Hockley is the perfect choice."

Cate shook her head. She pushed away her plated of untouched food and rose to her feet, suddenly feeling nauseated. She had known Beth was planning to marry her off, but this soon, and to a man who had just lost his fiancée? It was sick!

"You're mad," she said disgustedly. "I'm not going to marry Cal, so you may as well get that idea out of your head straight way." She tossed her napkin and stormed from the dining room.

As she left, she heard Beth sigh, "Since when did she adopt this flair for the dramatics?"

* * *

 _Tuesday, May 7, 1912_

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

The letter in Cate's hands trembled with her touch as she held it loosely at her fingertips, staring at the familiar writing of her paternal grandmother, her name and her sister's name scrawled on the front of the envelope. Was this it? Was she writing to tell them that Will's body had been found? Cate yearned to open it, yet she knew she had to wait for Lillian. So she paced her room over and over, wondering if Lillian would even care if she didn't wait for her. Probably not. She was so ambivalent toward everything lately… but if it _was_ to tell them that their father's body had been found, wouldn't she want to know at the same time that Cate did?

It was hours before Lillian finally returned home, and when she did, Cate all but dragged her up to her bedroom.

"We've received a letter from Nana and Papa," Cate said at last after Lillian had asked for the thousandth time, indignant about being pulled along.

"Oh." Lillian grew quiet. She stared at the letter for a moment before choosing a random spot on the wall. "You should read it out loud, then."

So Cate sat down on the writing desk, used a letter opener to slice open the envelope, and pulled out a single piece of paper. Taking a breath, she began to read.

 _To my darling girls,_

 _We've received the news of your beloved father's passing from White Star Line. We hoped for some time that his body would be recovered for burial, but that does not look to be the case. As such, we have decided to hold a memorial service for our William on the first of June of this year, and we would very much like for both you girls to attend. Indeed, we've delayed it as late as possible in order for you to be there._

 _Please write back as soon as you can. Of course, you both may stay with us as long as you like._

 _Your loving,_

 _Nana_

Lillian sighed. "I wish we could go. I'm sure it will be nice."

Cate looked at her. "You don't think Adam and Beth will let us?"

Lillian stared, raising her eyebrows. "I'm not going regardless," she said, sounding surprised. "We would get back right before my wedding. I've got far too much to do between now and then."

The wedding. At this point, Cate was tired of hearing about Lillian's wedding; it was all her sister had been able to talk about since she and Daniel had gotten engaged at the end of last year. Their entire paternal family was not invited, and their own father had almost not made the cut. Several in "their crowd" had been surprised that Cate wasn't asked to be one of the bridesmaids, and while Cate had never cared, she was remembering why she and Lillian had drifted apart in the first place: they were too different. Even their father's death had not been enough to bring them back together for more than a few weeks.

"You astonish me," said Cate, shaking her head. "It's your father's _memorial_. And all you care about is a wedding that you could easily reschedule!"

"Easily?" Lillian repeated incredulously. "There's nothing easy about planning a wedding, Cate, something which you couldn't possibly hope to understand! I loved Father, but I'm not going to rearrange my life around him. You think he's up in Heaven, or wherever he is, shaking his head in disappointment at me?"

"You didn't love him," Cate fired back, jumping to her feet. "You ignored him and you hadn't even seen him for over a year before he died! The last time you did see him, you shouted at him! Do you know he spoke about you all the time? He could never stop talking about you, despite how much he knew you hated him!"

"Stop!" Lillian screeched, looking positively furious. "Don't you dare throw that in my face, Catharine Alton! Just because your relationship with him was _perfect_ , you being so subservient and worshiping him even when he abandoned us, you think that means you loved him more? You didn't, you just didn't have anyone else! I, at least, had friends at school—all _you_ had were books and sneaking into the university to read. You didn't love him more, you were just lonely!"

Cate almost laughed when Lillian said her relationship with Will had been perfect. On _Titanic_ , it had been so very far from that. Before she could reply, however, Lillian cut across her.

"Why do you even _want_ to go to the memorial?" Lillian demanded. "You do know you would have to sail again, right? You would have to sail right back across the same waters where he died… where _you_ almost died. Is all that actually worth it to you, or do you just want to go so you can prove you were the better daughter?"

"Of course, it's worth it!" said Cate. "I would sail across the ocean in a rowboat to honor our father—it's what he deserves. He deserves for his only daughters to honor his memory, and by refusing to go, your spitting on his grave!"

"You're a sentimentalist," said Lillian, shaking her head. "Father knows I loved him, and that's all that matters to me. Not your opinion, nor anyone else's. I'm tired of you glowering at me because I'm not grieving in the way you would like me to."

"I'm not—" But Lillian interrupted.

"Who's James?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

Cate's eyes widened. She felt as if all of the wind had been knocked out of her. It was the first time she had heard anyone other than Lights or Harold say James' name after the ship sank. It was like a punch to the gut.

"What?" she sputtered, thinking wildly. "I don't—who—I—"

"Who's James?" Lillian repeated. "When you were screaming and sobbing a couple of weeks ago, you kept saying that you 'killed him.' I thought you were talking about Father, but then you mentioned someone named James. Unless you're talking about our uncle, which I don't think you are, you're talking about someone else who died in the sinking. So who is James?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cate lied, knowing her sister would see right through her. Not only was she a bad liar, but Lillian had always been better at reading her than anyone.

"Don't flatter yourself by thinking you can fool me," Lillian scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I want to know who this James is and—"

"Stop saying his name!" Cate screeched before she could stop herself, clapping her hands over her ears. "Stop! Just stop!"

Lillian looked startled and suddenly much less malicious. In fact, she looked concerned, her expression softening.

"Cate," she said quietly, uncrossing her arms, "what is going on? I've never seen you like this."

"Please don't ask me about him," Cate whispered, sinking back down onto the writing desk chair, her hands still over her ears. "Please, Lilly, I can't take it."

Lillian sighed and sat down on the edge of Cate's bed. "It's not good to keep things bottled up," she said. "You've always done that."

This was certainly true—Cate had kept her true feelings about her father bottled up inside until they had exploded from her and nearly destroyed their relationship in the last days of his life. But she couldn't tell her sister about James. Not when she knew what blame lay on her shoulders, not when she felt she didn't even deserve to speak his name.

* * *

Cate spent the rest of the day trying to best think of how to approach her grandparents about traveling to Scotland for the memorial. It was a good distraction from wallowing in her own misery, she admitted to herself, though she was forced to remind herself why she wanted to go in the first place. Plus, she couldn't get too carried away: there would be no staying in Scotland; she would have to return to Philadelphia just as soon as the memorial was over. That is, if her grandparents agreed to buy her a steamer ticket.

So far, none of Beth's plans to set her up with Cal Hockley had been set in motion, but it had only been two days. Who knew what was up her sleeve? And Cate knew that these plans would only make it that much more unlikely for her to be willing to buy her a ticket to Scotland.

Nevertheless, she had to try. She couldn't not be present for her father's memorial. She needed to be there with her family. Cate paced the corridor outside the parlor over and over, wringing her hands together. How would she phrase it? How would she keep her temper if Beth said something rude or offensive? She wasn't sure, of course, but she had to try. She had scarcely seen them since that disastrous dinner on Sunday, preferring to have a tray (that she barely touched) brought to her room. Taking a breath, Cate gathered her nerves and walked into the parlor.

Adam looked up from his newspaper and Beth looked up from her book. She arched an eyebrow.

"The princess descends from her tower," she said coolly. "Is your temper tantrum quite finished?"

"Yes, Grand-mère," said Cate, walking over and sitting down across from them on an armchair. Both of them stared; this was something she had never done before. "I have a request."

Beth snorted. "That is certainly rich," she said.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Let her speak, Beth."

Cate took another deep breath before speaking, choosing her words carefully. "My paternal grandmother wrote me a letter," she said, "to tell me that they will be holding a memorial service for my father on the first of June. I was wondering if you would be willing to buy a liner ticket so that I may attend."

Now Beth laughed outright. "Absolutely not," she said. "Do you remember what I said on Sunday? You're not going anywhere, Catharine, and I meant it. No more gallivanting across the globe when we need to get you settled."

"Now, hold on, Beth," Adam urged, "let's think about her request."

"There's nothing to think about," Beth snapped. "She would be gone for at least two weeks, in which time I could get my plans with Hockley in motion. If she disappears again, he may forget all about her."

"Two weeks isn't much time," said Cate, struggling to keep calm. "I would be back in time for Lillian's wedding."

"No," Beth said firmly, shaking her head. "I've had enough with not being able to keep an eye on you. You're going to stay right here, and that's final."

* * *

 _Wednesday, May 8, 1912_

 _The Alton Estate_

 _Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

It had been almost fifteen years since Sophie had died, and yet Cate could still the lingering effects of her death in Sophie's mother. Beth often withdrew into what had been her daughter's bedroom, locking the door behind her and staying in there for hours. She could be found gazing up at the portrait in the drawing room or at the one in the parlor of her son, Michel, lost in her own thoughts and memories. These were the only times when Cate could possibly see her grandmother as a real person.

After thirteen years of living in this home with its thirteen identical windows on both sides, Cate had never been in Sophie's room. Only Beth went in there to mourn and the maids to dust. She questioned her own motives as she stood outside the closed door. Beth was out at the cemetery to place flowers on her children's graves and Adam was at some important meeting for English members of nobility in America, or something along those lines. Lillian was out having luncheon with Daniel, leaving Cate alone with the servants who, she knew, would pay her no mind.

The door didn't creak as Cate turned the handle and pushed it open. The room, after fifteen years, didn't look much different from the other rooms in the house, with its four-poster bed, the bureau, the writing desk, and the chaise. But it had touches that the guest bedrooms did not: hairbrushes and hair ornaments lying out on the vanity, a jewelry box that was partially open. The wardrobe was devoid of clothes, but the bed was still made, as if Sophie was to be expected that evening.

Cate rarely thought of the woman who had given her life. She rarely thought of her as her mother, only as Sophie. All her life, she had imagined Sophie as cruel and emotionless, a woman who didn't care that she was giving away her two only daughters, only to try to replace them years later without success. Had she thought of them at all, or had she cast aside their memories like scrap paper?

Yet, at the same time, the Countess of Rothes had told Cate that Sophie had been a very sweet person. Had she meant it, or had she only been saying that as a matter of propriety? It was hard to imagine Sophie as sweet, but then, why had Will fallen for her in the first place? There wasn't even the smallest part of Cate thought it had only been lust between them. He simply didn't seem the type to bed a woman for a night and then forget about her. Perhaps Cate and Will were similar in that area, too: perhaps they both had a propensity for falling in love quickly.

Shaking these thoughts from her head, Cate began pulling open drawers. Most of them were empty, but some still contained more hair ornaments, various jewels, and odds and ends from a forgotten time before the turn of the century. Then, tucked away in the bottom drawer of the bureau, she found them: stacks of small books, all embossed with the initials "S.A." Her diaries.

Kneeling on the floor, Cate pulled out the first one and opened it to the very first page. She had never seen her mother's handwriting before. " _Mother is infuriatingly relentless and Father is infuriatingly passive. If she refuses to allow me to go to the gala held by Millie's family, I might just have to do something drastic_." The date scrawled at the top told Cate that the entry had been written when her mother was sixteen, probably before she had made her debut. Shifting through the diaries, she found others written when Sophie was a teenager, lamenting that she couldn't wait to make her debut, or that she was tired of how overbearing her mother was and how absent her father was. Cate paused when she read that.

" _Father is never around. I feel as if I hardly see him, and even when I do, his mind is somewhere else, far away from his family. I feel as if we, his children, were thrust upon him, and now he's stuck in a life he never wanted. I feel as if, deep down, he resents my brother and me for existing when he would rather be elsewhere_."

It was eerie, Cate thought, how closely her mother's thoughts had echoed her own. Except for Cate, her father really had been worlds away. When he was present, though, it had seemed like there was nowhere else he would rather be. At least for a while.

That night, Cate decided to make her final argument. Approaching Beth and Adam after they had returned home had done no good, with Beth only becoming even more annoyed and snapping at Cate to leave her alone. Pleading that she had never asked them for anything before had been to no avail, saying it would be the last time she would get to see her paternal family had done nothing. So now she had to bargain.

Before Cate could even say a word as they filed into the dining room that evening, Beth snapped, "If you even think about mentioning you going to Scotland, I shall box your ears."

"I do have one more argument," Cate said lightly as she sat.

Beth's eyes flashed. "Listen here, young lady—"

"Beth," Adam said loudly, "give her a chance to speak."

"If you agree to buy me a ticket for a ship to take me to Scotland," Cate began, choosing her words carefully, "then I will…" She took a breath. "I will agree to go along with any plans you have for me without complaint the moment I return."

Lillian's eyes grew wide as Beth's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Perfect!" said Adam when Beth didn't respond immediately. "What better bargain could there be, Beth? You'll have her married off before the end of the year, which is exactly what you wanted, isn't it?"

Cate winced, but Beth ignored it.

"Fine, she said at last, tossing her napkin down onto her empty plate. "We will buy you passage to Southampton and a train ticket to whatever it is that town your family is from. Do _not_ expect an extended stay, Catharine. You will arrive in time for the memorial and you will leave. You _will_ make it back in time for your sister's wedding, or I shall ensure that you are married off to a troll within a week. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Cate, hardly daring to believe that she had, for the first time, gotten her way. At a terrible cost, no doubt, but it be worth it to see her family again.

"Lillian," Beth barked suddenly, "do you wish to go?"

Lillian stared down at her plate. "No, ma'am," she said quietly.

"Good," said Beth, sounding satisfied. "At least _one_ of you has some sense."


End file.
